


Like the Wind Carrying the Sea

by yuigei



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, M/M, Slow Burn, jaehyun's lowkey a dick, lawyer jung jaehyun, lowkey arranged marriage, plot twists??, taeyong is a shy badass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2020-07-08 01:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19861384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuigei/pseuds/yuigei
Summary: Taeyong is guilty of a lot of things.He's been revoked of his driver's license for speeding one too many times, and he's been ticketed for parking in the fire lane.One thing he never imagined himself to be guilty of is being the third person to someone else's relationship, Jung Jaehyun's relationship. And now that he's stuck with the lawyer who isn't his soulmate, Taeyong starts to discover things about Jaehyun and the people close to him that should be kept under covers.





	1. where the stars meet

**Author's Note:**

> i came up with this idea, which is loosely based off of the last empress, in march but was too afraid to post it anywhere. but since it's summer and i honestly have nothing else to do, i might as well! i don't know much about law even though i took a few classes here and there (ig i should've paid attention whoops) so take all this with a grain of salt :)

After 9 years, Taeyong still couldn’t get used to opening the shop at such an ungodly time. 

It’s six o’clock sharp on a Thursday morning when Taeyong manages to carry himself out of the comfort of his bed, taking a good thirty minutes with half-lidded eyes in the shower before dragging his aching body to his small flower shop. 

Even then, at around seven o’clock, when the sun has yet to fully rise but the streets already started to bustle, Taeyong still craves the warmth of his bed and the comfort of a good night’s sleep. 

He stumbles a bit, hands wafting in the air animatedly to find the light switch that was inconveniently placed prior to Yuta’s hiring. However, even after the Japanese man suggested to remodel the shop, Taeyong still discovered the frustrating flaws that was scattered around the small area. 

Yuta was nowhere to be seen, Taeyong notices as he finally flicks the artificial lights on. He expected Yuta to be snoring away, tucked behind the safety of the payment counter as per usual. But today, Taeyong is faced with a vacant shop and an even greater responsibility.

“Lazy ass,” he murmurs, slamming the shop keys onto the countertop surface. 

Taeyong wanders around, examining the state of his withering flowers that have aged as winter came. He contemplates throwing them away; they’d be dead even with more studious care. 

Instead, he reaches for a watering can and crouches down towards the browning greens, pouring a heavy amount into the pot. 

Even before he gets to breathe, the shop door slams open, letting a gust of chilling winter breeze slip past the cracks.

Taeyong glares at the feet of the intruder from his position, shoulders shivering from the striking cold. He casts a look of disdain to the bouquets of wilting plants before regaining his posture, brushing off the non-existent dirt on his jeans. 

“Good morning,” he greets cheerily, albeit forced, staring at his hands, “How may I help you today?” 

The florist stares at the customer’s shoes, admiring the shiny polish that adorned his leather shoes. Taeyong winces, realizing that it would have been expensive. 

“You still haven’t gotten rid of that habit of yours,” the man chuckles, taking a bold step forward. 

At this, Taeyong manages to lift his head, staring straight into familiar eyes, sharp and accusing of intimidating nature, but the teasing smile that stretches across his pointed face tells the florist that he means no harm. 

There’s a moment of silence that settles down between the two before Taeyong regains his composure, “I didn’t expect you to come back,” being his only reply. 

“I didn’t think I would either, but it is Valentine’s Day and you sell the best flowers around here,” he quips, content with their conversation. “Sorry, I came in so abruptly. Have you opened yet?”

The florist shakes his head, a soft smile plays on his lips, “No, I was about to when you walked in, and of course I’d sell the best flowers, I’m the only flower shop around here.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Taeyong pads back over to the counter, stuffing the shop keys into a cabinet that hides behind the cash register before turning back to the taller man. He grins at the other man awkwardly, a little stiffly, before asking, “What should I prepare for your special someone?” 

“A rose would do,” he replies, “A bouquet would be too eye catching, wouldn’t it?”

Taeyong pauses, blinking at the man that stood before him. “That’s not the Kim Doyoung I remember,” he teases, stiffly walking towards the vases of roses on display. “You’re never this simple.”

“Perhaps,” Doyoung pauses, looking around, “Did you renovate the shop?”

Taeyong doesn’t look up from the vibrant roses, eyes still skimming over the crimson petals in search for the perfect branch. He pauses; however, gaze faltering. “Yeah, right after you left,” a breath, “I’m guessing you found a job that is paying well?”

He returns with a striking green branch, topped with a blossoming tuff of red petals. Taeyong grazes his eyes over Doyoung’s suit, admiring the fitted black fabric and golden buttons. The other man notices, and withers under the sudden attention.

“Uh yeah,” he replies awkwardly, hand scratching the back of his nape, “Lawyer’s secretary is a title that does me well, I suppose.”

“It’s great that you decided to go back to school instead of wasting your time here.” He hands the rose to Doyoung, eyes avoiding the questioning stare that envelopes him. “Is the person receiving this rose your soulmate?”

Instinctively, Doyoung’s hand flies up to his shoulder blade, the place Taeyong knows housed the younger man’s soulmate mark. He studies Doyoung’s expression as he does so, fingers shaking as it makes contact with the area. 

“No,” he states confidently, “This person means more to me than whoever my soulmate actually is.”

The florist nods, carding a hand through his conspicuous hair, a bloody red that is fading back to its original brown state. He doesn’t try to argue with Doyoung, knowing very well that the other man’s tongue is sharper than the pointiest thorn on any of his roses.

“How about you? Have you found the owner of the name inked on your collarbone?”

Taeyong hesitated, swallowing the lump that has been stuck in his throat ever since Doyoung appeared. 

“I have not,” the florist counters, mirroring the other man’s shamelessness. “You know me, Doyoung. I’m not one to believe in that shit.” 

There’s a momentary pause that dwindles down into the flower shop and Taeyong secretly hopes that Doyoung would leave, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

He walks back behind the cash register, punching in a few numbers before looking back at Doyoung, who is now wandering around the flower shop, the rose held daintily in between his fingers. Taeyong sighs, feeling as if the young secretary has overstayed his welcome.

“You’re still hung up on him, aren’t you?” 

The question knocks the air out of Taeyong’s lungs and his fingers clench around the edges of the countertop, fingernails scratching against the wood underneath. 

“Taeyong, you’ve had a crush on him for ten years. Isn’t it time for you to live your life? Find your soulmate? It’s Valentine’s Day and you’re spending your time like this?”

The florist smiles, amused with Doyoung’s teasing tone. It’s slightly aggressive, something that is expected of the bunny-like man, but there’s an underlying care to his questions that warms Taeyong’s heart. 

“I told you, Doyoung, I don’t believe in soulmates,” he chides, letting his guard down at the other man’s worry, “And if I don’t run business, then you wouldn’t have that rose to give to your lover. Plus, after this I’m planning to go eat dinner with Ten and Yuta, so please pay up.”

Doyoung smiles, taking long strides towards the cash register with his wallet hanging open, revealing the stacks of cash that is stuck in messily between the leather compartments. 

Taeyong accepts the money he’s given and doesn’t spare Doyoung a glance as he slides his business card under the florist’s nose. 

“You’d better open up quickly,” Doyoung reminds, glancing at the watch wrapped around his wrist, “It’s almost half past seven.”

“Will do,” Taeyong responds, tucking the gold-laced card into his jean pocket. “It was nice to see you again, Doyoung,” he says, only partly sincere.

“It’s always nice to see you, Taeyong.” 

And he’s out the door, leaving with the same breeze of cold air that he came in with. 

The night comes quick in February, Taeyong soon comes to realize as he flips the sign that read ‘open’ in bolded red letters to its opposite counterpart. 

The clock ticks closer to 8 o’clock than he expects, and Taeyong leaves the shop with a hastily wrapped scarf around his neck and the strong aroma of roses chasing around his body from the millions of requested bouquets that customers had purchased. 

It’s beyond cliché, the way men come in and out of his shop with heavy-duty cologne and slicked back hair, the way women flaunt their flowing dresses in the middle of February in such an ungodly manner. 

Taeyong hates Valentine’s Day.

He expects to unrelish his exhaustion with Ten and Yuta, accompanied by a steaming cup of sweetened coffee at the Thai’s café. The thought of doing so exhilarates him, and without thinking, Taeyong quickened his pace.

The walk to Ten’s coffee shop isn’t far, only located a few blocks down from Taeyong’s own business. But the chilling air of a winter’s day freezes up his legs as he walks into the shop, huddling together to find warmth.

He spots Ten behind the counter, eyes dazed as he stares at the screen of his cell phone. Yuta, on the other hand, was in the corner of the café, comfortably sipping from a mug. 

“I’m glad to know you’re alive,” Taeyong sneers, giving the Japanese man a slap across his nape. He unwraps his scarf from his neck, throwing it onto the table in front of Yuta. 

There’s a shit-eating grin on Yuta’s face, revealing every single front teeth he had to display. Taeyong only scowls in return.

“How was business without me?”

“I’m surprised you’re asking that,” the florist mutters, “It’s Valentine’s day for fucks sake, do you know how many customers came in?”

“I’m guessing from the eye bags,” Yuta jabs, eyes glinting with mischief, “That there were many.”

“No shit.”

Ten wanders towards the pair as Yuta is about to retort with a sarcastic reply of his own. He pushes the florist by the shoulder, sinking into the now empty space beside him. 

“What’s up, gays?” 

Taeyong sends a sharp glare towards the Thai male, who blinks rapidly, showing off the length of his eyelashes. “Stop that,” he chides, “Your eyes are going to get stuck.”

“Did something happen at the flower shop?” Ten interrogates, poking the side of Taeyong’s nose, “You’re being more bitchy than usual.”

“I don’t know,” he replies, “Ask the fool in front of you.”

Yuta raises his hands in defense, eyes widening two times its original size, “It’s Valentine’s day, give me a break.” 

Ten waves a hand in between the pair, “Hey, stop fighting on single’s night.” He turns back to Taeyong, eyes squinting into suspicious slits, “Is that all?”

“Doyoung came by today.”

Yuta leans forward at this, and Ten sits at the edge of his seat with anticipation.

“He purchased a rose and left.”

“Did he not say anything?” Yuta insists, “He came in, bought a flower, and left?”

Taeyong brushes back his hair nervously, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. He thinks about how to answer Yuta’s question momentarily, thinks about lying or giving an answer that beats around the bush. 

“He said a few words and left,” Taeyong finally states with finality, and there’s an edge to his voice that gives the truth away. 

“What did he say then?” Ten jabs in further, chin resting on the palm of his hand with interest.

“Talked about how I’m spending my Valentine’s day and gave me his business card.”

Taeyong digs in his back pocket, fishing out a crumpled piece of gold and navy card stock. He slides it onto the table, letting the pair inspect the words printed on its surface before tucking it away again, back into the same spot he hid it in.

Ten hums in thought, “So he got a job at a law firm,” a pause, “Guess it was a good idea for him to go back to college then.”

“Damn, I miss all the drama,” Yuta groans, rolling his eyes as he resorts to numbing his sarcastic pain with a sip of steaming, dark coffee.

Taeyong nods wordlessly, feeling his stomach grumble. Realization settles in that he hasn’t eaten anything the whole entire day. Unfortunately, Ten catches on from the hand that rests on the florist’s stomach and frowns.

“Haechan!” Ten calls out. 

A boy Taeyong has never seen before drags himself out from behind the counter, a note pad stuffed in the pockets of his apron. The florist skims over him for a second, noting the sun-kissed skin and auburn hair the boy sports. He looks young. Young enough to be merely a high school student.

“Can you get us three servings of apple pie?” Ten asks sweetly, and Taeyong almost snorts at the look of disgust that spreads across Haechan’s face. And without a word to match his expression, Haechan retreats into the kitchen, presumably to retrieve fresh slices of the fruity pastry.

Yuta taps his chin in thought, “I’ve never seen him around here before. New part-timer?”

“Yup,” Ten replies, a sense of pride lacing his voice, “He’s a sophomore in college.”

Once Haechan came out from the kitchen doors, the conversation between the three falls into a comfortable pattern of chatter; undisturbed and free-flowing.

It’s half past eight when the tranquility in the coffee shop shatters. 

The front door swings open and the stench of alcohol fills the small space. It chases around a young man, hardly any older than Haechan but considerably much younger than Taeyong.

He stumbles in with uncharacteristically pink cheeks and unsteady steps that tells that he’s had one shot too many. The young man waddles up to the front counter, mumbling out his order with slurred words and Taeyong notices the way Haechan’s face contorts into a scowl.

Surprisingly, Yuta also notices that situation that is unfolding in front of him, “Do you think Haechan’s going to punch that guy in the face?”

Ten turns around in his seat, observing the part-timer’s flaring nostrils and slitted eyes. There’s a conversation caught between the two, Taeyong notices, something more unpleasant than the usual back and forth of a customer and a worker.

“Hey,” Haechan suddenly shouts, “Are you trying to lie to me right now, you fucker?”

“No, I’m serious,” the customer bites back, hands frantically searching through his pockets. “I forgot my wallet. I’ll pay you back once I find it, I promise.”

“Do you realize how little sense you make right now?” The part-timer rolls his eyes, fishing out a phone from his pocket. “What’s your name?”

The man in front of him sighs heavily, a frustrating comes up to run through his already disheveled hair, “Mark, my name is Mark Lee.”

The grin on Haechan’s face is sharp, sending chills through Taeyong’s spine, who has been watching the conflict ever since it started. He had suggested jumping in, but Ten’s hand that clenches around his arm holds him in his spot.

“Well, Mark Lee,” Haechan snaps, holding the phone up to his ear, “I’m calling the police.”

Taeyong doesn’t expect to spend the rest of his Valentine’s day accompanying Ten’s part-time worker to their local police department. The boy in question, Mark, is positioned next to the florist, who decisively sat in between the two to prevent any more trouble from unwinding.

Ten was the first one to be interrogated, and before his departure, he hastily gave the responsibility over Haechan to the florist, muttering something along the lines of “I can’t trust Yuta, he’s a bad influence,” who decided to head home in order to avoid anymore criticism thrown at him.

It’s nearing nine o’clock and Taeyong is stuck in between two teenagers, hearing Mark rant and explain himself to the policeman that sits in front of them, head resting on his chin as he stares at the chirping boy with half-lidded, uninterested eyes.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” Mark finishes off his speech, a heavy sigh spilling past his lips, “I forgot my wallet at my workplace.”

The officer hums in faux-understanding, jotting down a few notes on a scratchpad. “Okay, let’s hypothetically say it was,” he clears his throat, flipping the report to the next page, “Then please explain where you got the alcohol.”

It seems to be another storm of frustration for the young boy. He huffs, untightening the black tie that hung around his neck. 

“Look, officer,” he starts, “My boss was throwing an introduction party and—”

“Give me your ID.”

Taeyong watches as Mark fishes into his front pocket. Empty. He scrambles through his coat. Empty. The drunk man pats himself down, coming up with nothing to give to the policeman.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “It’s in my wallet.”

The officer, who seems to be too tired to wait for Mark’s second speech of explanation, clears his throat and fixes his posture, straightening his back. 

“Listen, sir,” he announces, waving his pen in Mark’s face, “If you don’t have any evidence that proves you aren’t drinking underage, then I’m afraid we’re going to have to lock you up for a bit before someone bails you out.”

There’s a sign of panic that flashes across his eyes, and Mark is sent scrambling to grab on to the policeman’s arm as his last plea. 

“Officer, my lawyer,” a hiccup, “My lawyer is coming, you can’t just lock me up. He won’t take long to be here.”

The police officer quirks an eyebrow, feigning interest, but he gives Mark one last glance before standing up from his seat. He takes tired strides over to the rusting jail cells, and unlocks the creaking handle. 

Taeyong sees a sense of devastation that blindly configures across Mark’s features, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

After Mark is locked up in the temporary containment cell, Haechan is dragged away behind a desk with a different officer who smiles tiredly as he hands the teenage boy a pile of forms.

Taeyong squints at the stack of papers, a breath of relief swarming across his body when he realizes that he won’t have to commit to an hour’s worth of essay writing. 

But when the officer turns to him, Taeyong’s heart drops two feet down his body. 

“Here’s the witness statement forms,” he says monotonously, throwing a smaller stack into Taeyong’s lap, “Fill this out before you two leave.”

It takes an agonizing hour for the pair to complete their reports, and Taeyong wished he studied harder in Korean literature when he had the chance, essays in particular. 

Ten drops by half an hour in, his silver hair laying astray on top of his head. In any other situation, Taeyong would have pointed the eye-straining image out, but he understands that even he, himself, is too tired to do so.

Haechan, on the other hand, doesn’t miss the opportunity: “You look like death warmed over.” 

“I know, asshole,” Ten shoots the teenager an unamused glare, bringing a hand up to card through his disheveled hair, “You don’t look any better.”

Taeyong stands up from his spot, mindlessly clicking on the ballpoint pen he’s been given. “We should go home now,” he points out, “It’s getting late.”

He crouched down over the desk, reaching for his bag that was confiscated by the policemen. In the midst of Haechan and Ten’s childish bicker, a pair of leather shoes catch his eye.

He’s reminded of Doyoung, and how expensive the younger’s clothing had been when he met him again this morning. This man, who walks into the station with overflowing confidence, is the same.

Taeyong doesn’t have the need to observe his face, eyes only gluing onto the clothing items the man sports: black suit, white button down, a dark colored tie, and tidy slacks. It is seemingly simple, but even under artificial lighting, the florist takes note of how expensive it actually is. 

“Isn’t that Lawyer Jung Jaehyun?” Haechan asks in a hushed voice, shock lacing the words that spill past his lips. 

Taeyong blinks once, twice, and turns on his heel to catch the man’s face in order to confirm Haechan’s statement. He’s surprised to see that he’s right.

Taeyong recognizes the auburn brown hair, the alabaster skin, and the darkened eyes, adorned with deep eye bags. The sight takes him back seven years in the past, and Taeyong realizes that Jaehyun has never once changed.

He’s seen Jaehyun plenty of times on the news, flaunting his accomplishments and proudly giving the public a glimpse into his life. His family is no less of law media stars. 

But Taeyong only remembers Jaehyun to be a mere high school student who plowed through the hallways routinely in order to be in class on time.

“Taeyong?” There’s a poke at his shoulder, “Taeyong, you’re staring.”

Taeyong quivers from realization, shaking the thoughts out of his head. “Oh,” he sighs, “Right, let’s head home.”

He takes a step towards the direction of the exit, trying to prevent himself from thinking too much about the situation. But before he even has the chance to throw open the doors of the police station, the officer’s bellowing voice halts him mid-step:

“Lee Haechan and Lee Taeyong,” he calls, voice booming with authority, “Lawyer Jung has requested to see you two.”

“Are you serious,” Ten hisses, checking the watch on his wrist, “What the fuck does he want?”

“Only one way to find out,” the teenager replies haughtily, wrapping an arm around Ten’s shoulders and drags the smaller man beside him back into the station.

Taeyong is hesitant, hand instinctively going towards his lips as he gnaws nervously on the side of his finger nails. He knows he’s red; perhaps his cheeks are tinted from the unending exhaustion, or maybe, it’s from the embarrassment that is feeding into him. 

The florist huffs, yanking his hand away from his face and returns into the large space. He scans the area, cowering away from the attention he’s given.

“Sorry,” he apologizes softly, “I got caught up with something for a second.”

The police officer nods in faux understanding, gesturing for Taeyong to have a seat in the empty chair in front of him. 

Jaehyun sits unnervingly next to the officer, arms crossing over his chest as a defensive gesture. Taeyong puffs out his cheeks, wondering if Jaehyun will recognize him. 

His question is answered once he sits down and Jaehyun gives him a glance, lasting only for a mild second, before he turns away to examine the statements that Taeyong and Haechan has given. 

Of course, Taeyong thinks to himself in heavy disappointment, Jaehyun would never remember.

“It says here that my client entered the coffee shop at around 8:30, correct?” 

Haechan nods silently, keeping his composure. But Taeyong can tell that the teenager is only minutes away from bursting.

“And it says here that my client ordered but before the workers took his order, you already pointed out his lack of money.”

“Of course, I accept the money before I work on the order,” Haechan replies, suspiciously calm.

“But according to the history of the monitor taken from the café, you didn’t even write down his order,” Jaehyun jabs, throwing a printed copy of Ten’s monitor history on to the table, “This can’t be considered theft when his order wasn’t even processed, can it?”

Haechan’s facial expressions remain unfazed, stoic even, but Taeyong doesn’t consider himself to be blind. He glances down at the white knuckles on the teenager’s clenching hands and fights back the urge to sigh. 

“Another thing,” Jaehyun smiles. It’s a professional smile, tight and emotionless, but there’s still a hint of charm lying underneath. He pulls out a wallet from his pocket, “Here’s my client’s wallet, you can check the ID in there for evidence that he isn’t a minor.”

The officer examines the object, pulling out a card from one of the slots. From where Taeyong sits, he can only see how the man nods, finally understanding the situation. 

“Fine,” the policeman sighs, throwing the card carelessly on to the desk, “He’s off the hook, but if he causes trouble like this next time, I don’t think you’ll be that helpful.”

“Shall I take that as a challenge?” Jaehyun smirks, standing up from his seat. He smooths his shirt and adjusts his tie, and even from those actions, Taeyong can already sense the confidence of his statement.

The officer glares back at the man, nostrils flaring from frustration, “I wouldn’t if I were you.” He turns his back, retreating towards the confinement cells.

Taeyong glances at the clock, feeling sleep look over him quicker than he would like it to. Unconsciously, his mouth gapes into a soft yawn. Jaehyun, who hasn’t said a word to him, finally notices.

“You’re the witness, aren’t you? Lee Taeyong?”

“Oh,” he says dumbly, not realizing Jaehyun has been talking to him, “Yeah, I am.”

The lawyer offers him a smile. It’s softer than the one before, revealing the dimples Taeyong hasn’t seen in so long, but it’s still homes the same stiffness, “That’s a fine statement you wrote.”

“Thank you,” he states, not knowing what to say next, “I took a course in law during my junior year. Didn’t expect I would actually need it.”

This peaks Jaehyun’s interest, and he decides to continue the conversation, “Is that so? From what high school?”

“Jeongseon High School,” he answers, finally having the courage to look straight into Jaehyun’s eyes. He sees a flicker of shock rush past the lawyer’s orbs, his facade cracking only for a millisecond. “Class of 2013.”

“Jeongseon?” Jaehyun splutters.

Taeyong quirks an eyebrow at the man, wondering if Jaehyun is able to recall their small encounters throughout the school year. 

Instead, Jaehyun clears his throat, regaining his dignified composure. “That’s quite a famous high school for prestigious careers. What do you work as now?”

Hiding his disappointment, Taeyong purses his lips in thought. He can lie if he wishes to. After all, going to such a reputable high school, Jaehyun probably expects Taeyong to be having as equal of a reputation as he.

But Taeyong decides against it, though, returning his gaze down towards Jaehyun’s neatly polished shoes, “I’m a florist. My shop is just right around the street.”

“Oh,” the lawyer states dryly, “That’s lovely.”

“I know, disappointing. I studied to be a nurse but ended up here.”

“No, no,” Jaehyun convinces, “Doing what you love is most important, isn’t it?”

Taeyong looks up at the man, staring right into his deepening brown eyes. He’s intimidated by Jaehyun’s never ending pride, but he doesn’t stop himself from doing so. 

“Sure,” he replies, uninterested. 

Jaehyun frowns, “Hey, at least a lot of customers come by for Valentine’s day.”

Oh, Taeyong thinks, it’s Valentine’s day. Jaehyun’s birthday. He’s about to wish the younger man a happy birthday when the officer returns with Mark in tow, asking Jaehyun over to fill out additional reports.

Taeyong, deciding that it is already too late now than ever, turns to Ten who is busily chirping away with Haechan. “Let’s go, guys.” 

“Fucking finally,” Ten groans out. He throws his bag over his shoulders in great haste. “I thought we were going to spend all night watching you make goo-goo eyes with Mr. Jung over there.”

Taeyong flushes at Ten’s vulgar words and takes the opportunity to slap the shorter man across the arm. “I was not,” he retorts, “We were just talking.”

“I don’t like him,” Haechan blurts out after his minute of silence. 

Taeyong looks at him with wide eyes and glances back at Jaehyun who is now preoccupied with filling out a report on Mark’s behalf. He doesn’t seem to take an interest in the three’s departure.

“Lawyers,” the teenager scoffs, “Huge pricks the lot of them are.”

“Haechan,” Taeyong chides, putting an index finger over his lips, “We’re still in public.”

“Yong, I’m not trying to be mean to the love of your life, but he’s a little bit much.”

“He’s not the love of my life.”

Haechan raises an eyebrow doubtfully, “Judging by the way you were blushing like a fucking tomato, I would assume that he’s your soulmate,” he retorts, face contorting into disgust, “Is he though?”

“No,” Taeyong breathes, beyond frustrated, “No, he’s not. Let’s just go home.”

Ten casts a knowing look towards Haechan before grabbing the rest of his stuff. He turns to the part-time worker, smirking, “He’s had a crush on Jaehyun ever since his junior year.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Taeyong interrogates, frown laced over his lips.

Haechan holds back a giggle, “Nothing, keep walking.”

Taeyong scowls, but does what he is told. He takes a few steps too big for the two to keep up, but he doesn’t care. There’s a burning urge to get home and away from Jaehyun, and Taeyong can’t help himself but to do what he’s feeling on instinct. 

He doesn’t pay attention to the way Haechan and Ten seem to be getting along more peacefully than before, perhaps through clowning his love-life, or lack thereof. 

Taeyong bites the inside of his cheek, fingers coming up to touch his collar bone. The ink on his flesh itches irritatingly, as if it was reminding him that no matter what, Jaehyun isn’t the name tattooed onto his skin. There’s a sense of guilt that pangs him. Perhaps if he were to be stronger against his own feelings, he’ll be spending Valentine’s Day happily with someone he loves.

But with Jaehyun’s reappearance, Taeyong realizes that it’s not an option anymore.

“Happy Valentine’s day, whoever you are,” he whispers into the darkening sky, “I’m sorry.”


	2. once upon a time

A bachelor. 

That’s what the public calls him, publishing a variety of articles that monopolize his love life, or lack thereof.

Jaehyun doesn’t mind, usually stumbling upon an article or two and snorts at the obnoxiously descriptive image of himself that has been portrayed by someone who knows only his exterior. 

He enjoys it. As narcissistic as it sounds, Jaehyun loves reading about himself; a funny little character that has been changed into a variety of other characters. Some call him Prince Charming, while others dwell on the fact that he’s more villainous than most. 

His parents; however, aren’t very much pleased with the information they’ve read. 

Jaehyun spends his early summer morning in his father’s study, strained limbs sprawled across the old leather chair that sits in the corner of the room. It’s been there since Jaehyun was born, he remembers, maybe even before then. 

Every morning, the young lawyer was to be present in the study room, sitting in a chair, waiting for his father’s appearance before heading off to school. When he was younger, Jaehyun enjoyed it. 

Now, though, with twenty-five years of age on his back, Jaehyun isn’t able to find the spare time to be lingering around his parent’s house. 

Jaehyun reminisces at the thought, tapping his fingers impatiently on the chipping wooden desk that situates itself next to the leather chair. His father is occupied with a pen in his hand and glasses over his eyes; Jaehyun scornfully notes the same scene when he turned twelve. The last time he visited his father’s study routinely. 

“You called me?” Jaehyun questions, finally finding exhaustion from the suffocating silence. “So early in the morning, may I add.”

The old man doesn’t acknowledge Jaehyun’s comment, turning a blind eye to his son’s presence for a moment while he removes his glasses, chucking the object on to his desk carelessly. 

The man hums thoughtfully, as if he is still thinking about what to say, “The law firm,” he begins dryly, “How is it doing?” 

“It’s doing well. Our team managed to clear charges for more than half of our clients,” Jaehyun replies without hesitance, proud of what he’s accomplished.

“That’s good,” his father compliments, eyes cast somewhere far away. 

There’s a moment of silence between them and Jaehyun doesn’t dare to speak. No movement erupts from either of the men, only the rising of their chest from breathing indicates that they’re indeed alive. 

“How have you been doing, Hyun?” 

The question shocks Jaehyun; the lawyer is taken aback but the obvious affection. His father has rarely asked about him ever since he took over the law firm, their talks only touch on business here and there. 

“Great,” Jaehyun grunts out, disturbed, “I’ve been doing good.”

“And Mark? Are you still punishing him?” The old man asks, silently amused. 

Jaehyun quirks a smile, tight and professional; it’s well trained and shows no sign of sincerity, “Of course.”

“It’s been two months since he visited the police station,” his father muses, recounting the day when Mark called him, desperately asking him to give him another chance. It was Jaehyun’s birthday. “You should let him off of probation.”

“But, Dad—”

“I’m having a company party,” the man swiftly cuts off, “I want him to be there. I expect you to show up, too. Preferably with a date, your soulmate, maybe.” 

Jaehyun frowns at the sudden request, his mood down casting even further than before, “Is this why you called me into your office? To talk about my love life?”

“Jaehyun, your mother and I are tired of having your name plastered on news articles,” the man sighs, exasperated, “You’re twenty-five now, you shouldn’t be prioritizing your job before yourself. You should be like everyone else, trying to find your soulmate.”

“I’m only twenty-five,” Jaehyun spits out.

“And I’m only seventy?” His father points out and Jaehyun finally takes notice of the wrinkles on the other man’s forehead, the white hair that crowns his head, and the lifeless eyes that he stares at the lawyer with. “I want to see you get married before I die.”

The young lawyer doesn’t have the heart to reply. Instead, he stares at his own fists, clenching to his side in a disdainful manner. Truthfully, Jaehyun doesn’t know what to say. For the first time in ten years, the lawyer is truly tongue-tied. 

“I don’t care about who you marry, what gender they are or what they do. I just want you to love someone who will care for you after your mother and I pass away.”

“And what if I love someone already?” Jaehyun questions, albeit scornfully, evident by the subtle frown that creases over his face. 

There’s a flash of happiness that swiftly passes his father’s eyes, a state of euphoria Jaehyun has rarely seen from the man: he’s proud. “Then that’s great, as long as it’s not a person from your law firm.”

“Why is that?” Jaehyun questions in utter disbelief. 

“I know you, Jung Jaehyun,” his father murmurs, “People who know about the work you do won’t stay by your side for long.”

The lawyer scoffs, rolling his eyes in exasperation, “What do you mean the work I do? The fact that I’m the nation’s top lawyer for criminal law?”

His father stands from his seat defensively, hands gripping the side of his desk. Jaehyun doesn’t let the man overcome him. As a reflex, the lawyer mirrors his father’s pose, standing tall on his feet. The older man does not back away. Instead, his posture straightens, oozing with more confidence than Jaehyun can exude. 

“No, Jaehyun,” his father growls out, and Jaehyun’s strong demeanor seems to falter only for a millisecond, “People who know how you got into that position won’t be able to support you for long.”

The lawyer scowls at the older man, coming face to face with the stern man. He breathes heavily, trying to restrain himself from letting his anger control his actions, and the tight clench of his jaw restricts him from saying anything out of line. Jaehyun huffs, pulling back. 

“You,” Jaehyun points accusingly, “You’re using this as a threat, aren’t you?”

His father gently smiles, sitting back in to his seat. He looks up at Jaehyun’s contorted face, laced with a sheer amount of raw anger, “Take it how you want,” he finally concludes, too exhausted to continue conversing with the younger man, “The company event is next week. I hope you’ll be there with your significant other, and hopefully, it won’t be someone I’ve seen in your office before.”

Jaehyun gapes angrily at his father, eyes wide with indistinguishable shock. Despite his souring mood, the lawyer backs away, curtly bowing to the older man before slamming the door on the way out. 

It’s early noon when Jaehyun finds himself walking tiredly to a familiar coffee shop down the street from his law firm. His body shrugs tiredly under the warmth of his black suit, and the scorching May weather is only worsening his situation.

The young man had dropped by the law firm for a short moment in a frantic, yet futile, attempt to dig out Mark’s resume from the pile of messily organized case files that happened to climb higher by the day. 

His sudden visit was a result of evident anger, and coworkers that jumbled up in the copy room during break busily poked their heads into the hallway to witness their superior’s imprudent outburst. Jaehyun wasn’t fazed at the time, only focused on the young intern’s address that was written neatly in his resume. 

Sicheng, the 24 year old investigator that resides on Jaehyun’s team, snorted upon arriving on the scene, informing the lawyer that his secretary has always held on to employee resumes. 

Before the investigator got to say another word, Jaehyun was already busy on his feet, holding his phone up to his ears in a request to talk to the secretary privately. The other man had suggested meeting up at the local coffee shop and Jaehyun never denied. 

As a result, Jaehyun trudges in to the café, seemingly half-alive. He doesn’t bother to reply to the workers that greet him cheerily, finding their voices overly sweet and too chirpy for such a hot summer day. 

Instead, the lawyer takes it upon himself to find a seat first, gently resting his arms over the white, wooden table in a frugal attempt to cool down his skin. 

A waiter comes over a few seconds after he takes a seat, looking mildly shocked to see his presence.

Jaehyun only looks up at the boy with disinterest. 

“You’re that lawyer,” he gasps, pointing an accusing finger in front of Jaehyun, “The one that let that Mark guy get away back in February!”

Jaehyun quirks an eyebrow at the tanned boy’s accusation and takes a minute to ponder upon what he just said, “Oh, you must be Lee Haejong.”

“Haechan,” the waiter corrects, unamused.

“Haechan, right,” the lawyer answers awkwardly, “Listen, I’m only here to talk to someone so don’t bother taking my order, is that alright?”

The waiter, Haechan, only frowns at Jaehyun’s request, “Then please leave,” he states dryly, “Our café isn’t a hangout place; order something or leave.”

Surprised at the sudden attitude he’s receiving, Jaehyun gives up on trying to bargain with the boy. Instead, he glances at the menu and picks out the first item he sees, “One americano,” he orders, “Please.” Jaehyun proceeds to add in a low growl.

As chirpy as the workers around the coffee shop, Haechan flashes him a sarcastic smile, “One americano, coming right up!”

Jaehyun doesn’t dare look at the young worker for more than another second and instead, he focuses his attention to the entrance of the shop, anxiously tapping his feet to the rhythm of the other customer’s chatter while he waits for his company.

He doesn’t have to wait for long when a tall man walks in, looking as tired and drained as Jaehyun does, although the sly smile on his face hides the bags that adorn his sharp eyes.

He takes a seat, as graceful as he walked, and passes Jaehyun the folder he had been asking for. “Mark’s resume. Plan on lifting his probation?” He quips, teasing. 

Jaehyun chuckles lowly, “Perhaps, but I won’t go easy on him.” 

“I know you won’t. But you said you had something else to tell me?” He questions with a nod of his head. “I hope this isn’t about work.”

Jaehyun smiles lovingly at the man, feeling his exasperation diminish from just a glance at his lover, “Might be, might not be.”

Doyoung frowns, it’s stretched right over his face and creates curves around his features. Any person passing by would’ve said that the look was unappealing, intimidating with all his sharp edges and piercing eyes, but to Jaehyun, it was something he’s fallen in love with throughout the years. 

“My father, he wants to throw a banquet.”

At this, Doyoung’s face lifts into a soft smile, “If you’re worried about the workload then it’s completely fine. I’ve got it down—”

Jaehyun sighs, interrupting him. It’s heavy and tells the story of an exasperated man, desperate to find simple solutions. “It’s not about the workload,” he grunts out, “He wants me to attend with my lover.”

The secretary furrows his eyebrows, showing his pure confusion. Jaehyun watches him carefully, pondering about the actions he’ll take, or even the words he’ll say, but instead, Doyoung smiles. It’s uptight, no soft lines around his lips or eyes crinkling in joy. 

“And I suppose he said he doesn’t want you to go with me.”

There’s a thick pause that settles between them. Jaehyun blinks lifelessly at Doyoung, anxiously tapping his feet on the ground beneath him. After a moment of hesitation, Jaehyun nods in confirmation, feeling the confidence and charisma he once had drained out of him. 

Doyoung doesn’t speak. Simply, Doyoung doesn’t move. He’s rooted into his place, and Jaehyun can’t tell if it’s from shock or it is the fact that Doyoung is already three steps ahead of him. 

The silence doesn’t last for long when a server comes up to their table, gently placing a steaming cup of coffee in front of Jaehyun’s face. 

Haechan, whose arms warily dropped by his sides, was busy silently examining Jaehyun’s guest with suspicious eyes, as if he was looking at someone familiar. Before the lawyer gets to tell him off, Haechan pulls the notepad from out of his apron’s pocket, lazily clicking his pen.

“Would Lawyer Jung’s guest like to have a drink, too?”

Doyoung blinks unsuspectingly, surprised by the sudden question, “Oh, just some hibiscus tea, thank you.” 

Haechan smiles hesitantly, eyes narrowing dangerously at the tone of the man’s voice. It was tinged with a terrible sweetness, perhaps sickening and sitting at the extent of polite and obnoxious. So as hesitant as his smile, Haechan nods, “Of course, one hibiscus tea coming right up,” he quips, mocking Doyoung’s vocal tone playfully. 

Jaehyun frowns at the exchange but doesn’t say a word about it, choosing to be silently resigned from the topic. Instead, he focuses on the matter at hand, “My father, he doesn’t want anyone from the company to be with me in a romantic aspect.”

Doyoung dwells on this statement, feeling pity for the younger man that sits nervously in front of him. There’s a bit of pride to his emotions, exploding in his gut. Only he can make such a man like Jung Jaehyun look at him with those eyes, almost pleading. 

“And I know that he’s not very fond of me,” Doyoung sighs, feigning disappointment. “Well Lawyer Jung, what are you planning to do?”

Jaehyun tightens his lips together, pondering. Doyoung stares at the man, admiring his every feature. His concentration that his plastered all over his face is quite admirable, from knitted eyebrows furrowed together into a knot between his forehead, to the fire in his eyes that was filled with determination.

For a moment, Doyoung was almost fooled into thinking that he did actually love Jaehyun. 

Even before he receives his answer, Jaehyun’s phone pings, followed quickly by Doyoung’s. The two glance at their phones, already present frowns deepening on their face. 

Jaehyun stands up from his seat, sparing a short glance towards Doyoung who was eager to dive into the current news to check up on the situation. “I’ll pay and we’ll meet at the law firm?”

Doyoung doesn’t bother looking up from his phone, “Of course, babe,” he states sweetly, “Looks like you’ve got a lot more on your plate than we know of.”

The statement doesn’t sit well with Jaehyun as his lover picks himself up nonchalantly, giving the lawyer a brief glance before heading out the door. 

And he doesn’t look back.

“Hmm so I’m guessing you’ll be paying for his tea, too?” 

Jaehyun jumps in his seat, glowering at Haechan’s unnerving presence. The younger man just smiles at him, honey dripping from the curves of his lips. Jaehyun finds it disgustingly friendly, but he pulls out his wallet regardless. 

Haechan takes the bills graciously, smirking as he does so, “Wouldn’t want you to end up like your employee, would we? Because this time, I’ve already registered your order,” he sneers dangerously, clear that he has a tooth to pick with Jaehyun, “Lawyer Jung.”

“You’re challenging me,” Jaehyun states. It’s clear that Haechan’s behavior doesn’t need to be questioned, but it’d be right for the lawyer to confirm it either way.

“You pick things up fast. Guess that’s just what lawyers do.” Haechan pushes Jaehyun aside, handing him his untouched cup of steaming dark coffee. “Have a good day, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun believes his luck has run dry and his patience fade as he walks back into the law firm, Mark’s resume clenched in between the whitened knuckles of his tightened fist and the cup of dark americano resting in the other. 

It’s amusing, Jaehyun thinks, to see how his employees scatter across the area with fluttering hair and unkempt piles of paper rushed to be put in place upon seeing his presence. The lawyer quirks an eyebrow at a slumped figure splayed across the cast area of his desk. 

With a grunt, Jaehyun slams the coffee cup on to his desk, startling the snoring man. “Looks like you’ll be needing this more than I do,” Jaehyun snides, lips curling up into a dangerous smile, all smooth lines and pursed lips. He pats the man on the back once, smile dropping immediately like it was just a facade. “If you’re going to sleep, maybe do it in the restroom where I can’t see.”

The employee nods wordlessly, eyes wide and still dazed from his nap. Jaehyun straightens his back, standing taller than he did before. He sends a look to the rest of the people there, standing with their breath hitched, before retreating into the safety of his private office.

“Weren’t you a little harsh?” Sicheng questions, trailing after the lawyer with close steps.

Jaehyun rolls his eyes, spinning on his heels to face the investigator. “Was I?” He shoots back, smile slightly sadistic and taunting. 

“That doesn’t work on me,” the investigator deadpans, arms crossing stubbornly over his chest, “No wonder why articles say that you’re like a Disney villain.”

The lawyer shakes his head in disbelief, pulling the door open to his office, “Did you follow me to my office just to poke at the way I discipline my employees?”

“I wish it was,” Sicheng sighs, tossing a folder onto Jaehyun’s cluttered desk, “You’ve got another client, Lawyer Jung.”

Jaehyun takes a seat, leaning back casually as he opens the files, glancing over the information typed neatly across the paper with bored eyes. “Assault?” he says dryly, disbelief clouding his thought process, “You gave me an assault case?”

“Look, Sherlock Holmes,” Sicheng chides, eyes narrowing into thin slits, “If you read the whole entire report then you’ll understand why Secretary Kim sent you this one.”

“Doyoung requested this one?” Jaehyun questions, eyebrows furrowed together into a knot.

It’s not weird, Jaehyun thinks, for Doyoung to be sorting cases for him, always picking out ones that the older man feels would benefit the law firm. Never once in the years of work Doyoung has done, did he pick out something as simple as assault. 

He’s gotten plenty for drug-uses, typically from celebrities, a years worth for murder. But assault is something only Lawyer Moon, a righteous man who his father favors terribly, dabbles with. 

Sicheng nods, “Says the client is a renowned artist,” the investigator rounds his way behind Jaehyun’s desk, pointing at the picture pasted on to the paper, “Doyoung told me to tell you that this would be good publicity if you manage to win this one.”

“Hmm, he assaulted a visiting fan in the privacy of his own home, looks like she was beaten up pretty badly” Jaehyun takes in, unphased by the information he’s reading. He glances at the picture of the victim, pursing his lips at the damage.

It’s clear that the man has done a number on the young girl. And it’s gruesome to even see, evident splotches of vibrant purple and red decorate her skin, a few streaks of blood trickle from her forehead, and her eyes are too swollen to see the soul in her orbs. 

Jaehyun shakes his head, hissing inwardly. But he only feels bad momentarily. 

“If you look at it like this, the prosecution would be lacking evidence.” He concludes after reading the rest of the information, relief swirling in his chest, a satisfying feeling.

“And why is that?”

Jaehyun smirks, tossing the file aside and pulling his legs up on the desk, “Without evidence and witness testimony, what do you think the trial would be like?”

“A ‘he says, she says’ type of scenario?” Sicheng answers with a tilt of his head. 

The lawyer nods, “Easy win, don’t you think?”

The investigator frowns, eyebrows drooping down in confusion, “You’re that confident, huh?”

“I’m confident with everything, Investigator Dong.”

“Conceited as always, are we?” Sicheng shoots back, doubtful. 

Jaehyun laughs, shaking his head slowly, “I would call it self confidence, if you will.”

“Sure, self confidence,” the investigator confirms dryly, “When are you planning to lift Mark’s probation then?”

“Later,” Jaehyun assures, digging back into the case folder, “Let’s look at this more intricately first, shall we?”

It’s nearing closing time when Ten emerges from the kitchen, hair matted to the top of his head while a striking splotch of whipped cream adorns his skin, smeared artistically across his cheek and splayed over his finger tips. He rests his hands on his lips, examining the state of the closing coffee shop. 

With a glance towards the clock, Ten seeks out the teenage server, finding an untouched cup of tea standing on an abandoned table. “Lee Haechan!” Ten shouts, picking up the mug. It’s cold, evident that it’s been out for longer than it should be.

The waiter emerges from behind the counter, a stack of money in the middle of being counted still in his grasp, “Yes, Mr. Grinch?”

Ignoring the nickname, Ten points accusingly at the mug with furrowed eyebrows, “Didn’t I tell you to clean things up when customers leave?”

“I thought that’s Jaemin’s job?”

“Does it look like Jaemin is here to you?” Ten rhetorically questions, patience being singed down by the second, “You’re the only person working today so you should do everything.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, putting the rolls of money back into the storage. He rushes over to Ten’s side, inspecting the mug of vibrant red and topped with a single mint leaf. “Oh, this was what Lawyer Jung’s guest ordered,” he says in realization.

Ten’s eyes widen twice its original size upon hearing the boy’s statement, “Lawyer Jung was here? With who?”

“Yeah, he was here with some tall guy, dressed equally as fancy, kind of looked like a rabbit, rate six out of ten,” Haechan jokes, sneering at the thought, “They both looked pretty upset during their little talk, something about a banquet.”

“You were eavesdropping?” 

“Of course not,” Haechan defends, seemingly offended by the way Ten has accused him, “I was there to take his guest’s order and they didn’t realize I’ve been standing there for the past minute or so.”

Ten looks flabbergasted once Haechan’s done talking, unbelievably so when the boy mentioned Doyoung’s relation to Jaehyun. He doesn’t say another word; however, feeling too uncomfortable with the topic to continue discussing it. 

Instead, he takes the cup of tea into his hands, frowning at the order. Hibiscus tea, Ten recognizes, causing a familiar storm to churn in his stomach. And next to it laid a pen, wrapped in gold, body expensive with elaborate designs of roses and its sharp thorns adorn the black exterior. He pockets it with a swift grasp of his fingers, burying it in the deep pockets of his jeans.

Looking back at the mug, Ten feels chills run throughout his body. He wills himself to tear his eyes from the mug, taking it hastily back into the kitchen, dumping it in the sink. 

When he returns, Haechan is busily wiping down the tables, unphased by anything that had happened. Ten clears his throat, announcing his presence once again. 

“Have you seen Taeyong around?” He questions, walking towards the door with a key in his hand. Ten flips the board towards ‘closed’ after throwing one last glance down the street for the familiar tuff of red hair. 

“Nope,” Haechan states firmly, tossing the rag into a water bucket near his feet, “He called you this morning but you left your phone out here with me.”

“What’d he say?” Ten curiously asks, trying to fix his appearance through his reflection in the tinted store windows.

Haechan shrugs nonchalantly, “He says there’s some stuff going on at the flower shop so he won’t be able to come today.”

“And you didn’t tell this to me earlier?” Ten blinks, pointing accusingly at the young boy. “I made him a strawberry pie, Haechan!”

“Sucks for you, doesn’t it?” Haechan retorts, sticking his tongue out childishly, only to flinch when Ten throws his shoe towards the younger male, missing by only a few inches. “You can always deliver it to him. He’s probably home by now, anyways.”

Ten ponders on the thought momentarily. And only after mere seconds, he tosses the shop keys towards Haechan before dashing back into the kitchen. “Lock up for me, brat.”

Upon his arrival at Taeyong’s apartment, Ten has noticed more than two things that stood out to him. One, was the fact that Taeyong’s most prized house plant, a once luscious green succulent that stood guarding his door, is now wilted beyond recognition. And two, which happens to be that Taeyong’s door is unlocked and pushed open, revealing a glimpse inside the florist’s apartment. 

Worried was not a suitable word for how terrified Ten felt for his friend. But the feeling diminished just as quickly as it arrived when he sees Taeyong’s figure in the kitchen, swaying carelessly to music that softly played throughout the apartment. 

“Why is your door open?”

The comment startles the dancing male, causing him to drop the wooden spatula that was clenched in his hand. The material clicks and clanks against the pot and onto the floor. 

Taeyong huffs, turning towards the intruder with his fists held up, as if he were ready to fight. “Why are you here, Ten?”

Ten shrugs, putting the package down on the kitchen table, unwrapping the contents slowly. “I think I asked you a question first.”

“I guess I just forgot to close it,” Taeyong casually replies, pursing his lips. He takes excited steps towards the Thai, curiously looking at the pastry that the coffee shop owner was unpacking. “You made this for me?”

“Of course I did, dumbass,” Ten sneers teasingly, pinching Taeyong’s cheek. “I had some extra ingredients and you seemed pretty stressed lately, judging by the livelihood of your plant.”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow at Ten’s observation, all the while taking taking a small sample of his pie. “Oh, you mean the one at my doorstep?” A nod, “I haven’t been home in awhile, so I didn’t get a chance to water and look after it.”

“And you call yourself a florist,” Ten chides, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. He grabs two forks from Taeyong‘s cabinet, digging into his own creation, “You should probably throw it in the trash, it’s way too far gone.”

“You think so?”

Ten chokes on a piece of strawberry he’s chewing, “What are you planning to do with a dead plant? Scare your neighbors away?”

“I’m only kidding! I’ll take it in later and clean the pot when I have time,” Taeyong plans, stuffing his mouth with the tart taste of Ten’s pastry. The florist hums in satisfaction, excitedly moving to express the taste with his body. “I have to get back to the flower shop after I have dinner.”

“You’re going back?”

“Yeah, some law firm ordered a whole bunch of floral arrangements to be done by the end of this week,” the florist explains, voice muffled by the constant chewing. “Pretty sure it’s Doyoung’s, they gave me the same business card.”

Ten blinks in surprise, being reminded of his and Haechan’s conversation only an hour ago. “And you don’t have a problem with that?” he shoots, shocked at Taeyong’s nonchalant reply.

Taeyong only stares back at Ten, eyes softening at the mere sight of worry that pains the Thai man’s face, stretching deep into every curve of his features. “Business is business,” he replies shortly, curt and dismissive. 

“Anyways, speaking of Doyoung,” he starts, voice quiet, as if he was afraid of saying the information out loud, “He came to the coffee shop today, according to Haechan.”

Taeyong squints at the Thai, orbs shaking in short micro-movements. Suddenly, his appetite has diminished, and the florist wills himself to place his fork down back on the table, mouth going dry in anticipation. “Did he say anything?”

“He wasn’t there for me,” Ten starts, putting his fork down, reflecting Taeyong’s stance, “Doyoung was there with Jaehyun.”

“But…” Taeyong gulps, looking expectedly at the Thai male who only returns his gaze, “Did he see you?”

“I was in the kitchen the whole entire time,” Ten explains with a dry voice. He reaches into his pocket, pulling a familiar black pen from his pocket. “He left this behind, though. When you meet him, you should give it back.”

Taeyong takes the pen into his hand, feeling a rush of memories crash into him like giant waves washing up on an abandoned beach. The florist uses his fingers to feel along the golden engravement, the rough, aged ridges brushing up on his flesh.

“To KDY.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i almost lost the document for this chapter... :D


	3. a midsummer night's dream

Time runs faster than any living thing can keep up with, Taeyong has come to realize when the end of the week rushes around the corner, its guest being the familiar feeling of anxiousness. 

After Ten’s visit to his apartment, Taeyong has kept the pen tucked deep in one of the cabinets that decorates the counters of his flower shop. And with no luck, Doyoung has yet to turn up to either of them in search for his pen. 

At this thought, Taeyong’s heart drops unwillingly, breath hitching in an inhuman manner. And within these few seconds, he starts to doubt his own emotions more and more. However, despite these thoughts, his hands work diligently on his last arrangement for tonight. 

He’s proud of what he’s done. Striking hues of bright pink are softened by rare specks of white baby breaths. And adorning each, comes the vibrant appearance of luscious green leaves, giving life to the arrangement, while the dull brown of the branches ground it. 

Taeyong snips one last flower, placing it carefully into the basket. He takes a step back, a breath of relief spills from his lips as he admires his piece from a greater distance. The very last one out of twenty arrangements, the one that he’s most proud of. Taeyong spins the arrangement around, inspecting it from every angle. 

It’s simple, the use of sunflowers and pink lisianthuses is an odd combination, and Yuta has constantly reminded him throughout the day only to retreat back into the storeroom to fetch Taeyong more flowers of the same kind. Taeyong, despite what Yuta said, adores it.

“You’re done?” Yuta questions, inspecting the basket along with the florist. He hums in approval, crouching down closer to the flowers. “It’s not bad.”

Taeyong smirks teasingly, punching Yuta light on the shoulder. He snatches the basket away from the Japanese male, setting it near the back with the other nineteen arrangements, each one a unique design and colors. “Says the one who’s been bothering me all day to change the flowers I’m using.”

Yuta sneers playfully at the older male, haughtily turning towards the florist with a pout etched on his face, “What can I say? They’re both pretty bulky flowers, but I guess the baby breaths make it a little better.”

“Or maybe it’s my decorating skills?” Taeyong suggests, wiping his hands with a nearby towel. Yuta snorts in disgust at the comment, overdramatically quipping quiet commentary that stands against the florist. “Stop that! When did the firm say they were going to pick these up?”

Yuta stays silent, as if he was trying to remember the information given to him. In a haste, he pulls out his phone and reads the text he’s been sent. “Well,” the Japanese man speaks, hesitation coating a thin layer of his voice, wavering his tone, “They said you should deliver it to them personally at seven o’clock.”

Taeyong pales at the instructions, glancing at the clock that embellish his wall. It’s only a little half past six, and if was to leave right now, he’d be only a little early. 

“Did you come here with your dad’s car?” 

Yuta frowns, fishing the keys out of the pockets of his jeans, “You don’t have to remind me that I’m too broke to have my own car, but yes.” He dangles the object, whipping it around in a playful manner, “Why? You want to use it to deliver the flowers?”

Taeyong smiles at the Japanese male sweetly, pearly white teeth presented and glossy eyes softened. Yuta blinks, thinking about how unnerving Taeyong could be, with pretty looks and an even prettier personality. “It’s kinda annoying how good-looking you are,” he snides in disgust, holding the car keys tightly in his hand, “Let’s go then.”

“Hey, I can drive myself,” Taeyong exclaims confidently, eyes wide and pleading.

“Hell no,” Yuta barks, keeping the keys far away from the florist’s reach, “The last time you drove, you got your license revoked. I’ll be driving us today...and probably forever.”

Taeyong’s lips curl into a deep frown, the wrinkles of his nose accentuating the action. He doesn’t argue with the other male. Instead, he keeps silent while carrying the arrangements towards the trunk of Yuta’s car, latching the baskets in place with ropes to avoid any accidents on the road. 

Returning to retrieve the rest of the baskets, Taeyong halts in the middle of his step as he’s situated behind the counter, eyes flickering towards the cabinet that homes Doyoung’s pen. 

The florist debates with himself for a moment: if Doyoung hasn’t made an effort to reach out to Ten or Taeyong about it, it means that he didn’t care enough to get it back, or even remember it for the matter. 

Brushing these thoughts away from his mind, Taeyong fumbles with his shop keys, unlocking the cabinet and swipes the pen away from its home for five days. 

There’s a few arrangements that make it to the backseat of the car upon his return outside, the others having already taken up too much space than necessary in such a small, aging car. Yuta takes out the final arrangement, handing it over to Taeyong, “Hold it, there’s no more space left in the trunk or the backseat.”

Wordlessly nodding, Taeyong graciously takes the sunflower arrangement, holding it carefully in his arms like a mother would for a child. He climbs into the car after Yuta, settling in to the old seat, trying to make himself comfortable.

“You know the location right?”

Yuta pulls out his phone, checking the message back again, “Well, now I do.”

“That’s—”

“A large building,” Taeyong answers, cutting off Yuta’s agape statement that was urging to burst through his lips, “No one’s arrived yet, thankfully.”

“I was going to say extravagant but I guess that’s the same thing,” Yuta chimes in, his voice in a low murmur. He pulls the trunk of his car up, dismissing the creaking sound it makes, and pulls out two baskets, both beautiful and bright. “They said we put them at each table with a gold tablecloth.”

“Great,” Taeyong replies, exasperated. 

The building is big, all chandeliers and sparkling diamonds. It’s structure is embellished with renaissance paintings, grandly painted with dull, soft colors that bring it life. 

Taeyong, without even realizing, has his mouth agape the whole entire time. 

The pair trail up a flight of stairs, carpeted with an elegant shade of crimson, as dark as blood, taking them to a barricaded room where laughter roared and echoed from, and the soft chatter of people warn that there are indeed people inside.

Breathing in a breath for strength, Taeyong waltzes in, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of wealth that exudes from the guests’ outfits. And for a mere second, the florist feels underdressed. 

“Good evening, Mr. Lee,” a voice booms, and following it, a hearty chuckle. “I’m glad you made it just in time. We just started to set up.”

The florist turns on his heels, facing the owner of the voice, only to be surprised that it’s a man who looks like he’s in his late sixties. The man, although aging, sports a friendly smile, welcoming and warm. 

Taeyong smiles back awkwardly, bouquets still in hand. “Yes, uh…”

“Jung Jaewook,” the man replies, stretching out a hand for the young man to take, “It’s a pleasure to meet the florist behind these beautiful creations.”

And at this, the people that are scattered across the room; both workers and family alike, struggle to get a glimpse of the florist, eyes boring into his presence as if he were to be their prey for the night.

Fidgeting under the sudden attention, Taeyong trains his eyes on Mr. Jung’s shoes with his head ducked and cheeks flushed. 

“Thank you, sir,” he replies gratefully, although his voice comes out barely above a whisper, “I’ll go set these in their place.”

He quickly dismisses himself, pulling Yuta in trail with him. The Japanese man, who has been ignored the last few seconds, staying silent the whole time of conversational exchange, halts Taeyong midstep with a tug of his arm.

“Why do you keep on doing that?” Yuta hisses softly. There’s no evident venom in his voice, but even so, Taeyong still feels intimidated by the sudden change of tone.

And as innocent as he is, Taeyong doesn’t understand what Yuta is talking of, “Doing what, exactly?”

“Looking at their feet,” the Japanese nags, and it’s evident that this has been a conversation Yuta has wanted to have for a long time. “Why?”

Taeyong continues on his way; however, not minding the direction of where this conversation is going. Instead, he works on placing the bouquets where they’re supposed to be, unphased by Yuta’s constant remarks as he’s helping him.

And after a while, when everything has been finished, Taeyong wills himself to look directly in Yuta’s eyes, “Because on the scale of social status, I’m not supposed to look directly into their eyes.”

“Taeyong, that’s not how things work,” Yuta chides, flustered, “You’re letting them step all over you if you do that! You’re not their slave, why is this something you let yourself believe?”

“It’s easy for you to say,” Taeyong whispers, but it’s audible enough for Yuta to hear.

“Why is it easy for me to say?”

“Because you’re the son of a businessman, Yuta,” the florist states, as if the information was obvious enough for the Japanese to understand. “You’re on the same level as them.”

Yuta frowns, confusion swirling around his eyes, “No,” he replies curtly, “It’s because I’m brave enough.”

Taeyong smiles, it’s reluctant and dismissive, but Yuta is still satisfied with it. “Perhaps.” The florist agrees shortly, an edge still evident in his voice, “But let me do what I need to do, okay?”

“Alright, but I’m not saying that I won’t stop you from doing it next time,” the man answers, “I need to go to the bathroom real quick, wait for me?”

“Sure, but don’t blame me if I take your car and leave.” 

Yuta glowers at Taeyong’s comment, but heads off towards the restrooms, regardless. And Taeyong, who’s left alone in a sea of successful figures, only stands awkwardly near his display, pretending to fix a stray branch here and there to look like he has a reason to linger. 

He can’t help but to eavesdrop when the chatter starts to erupt again, voices jumbling up together in excitement while they seek out the new guest that has just arrived. 

“Jaehyun,” Mr. Jung exclaims proudly, voice louder than when he had greeted Taeyong, “You made it.”

Taeyong freezes up, rooted in his spot: crouched down near a basket of flowers with his hair a mess and clothes astray. “What the fucking hell.”

The thought of running out crosses Taeyong’s mind, but the guilt eats him up immediately when Yuta’s words play back at the same time. But perhaps, abandoning Yuta this one time is justifiable. 

So without much thinking, Taeyong scurries towards the nearest wall, hidden out of view from the others. 

“Did you come with anyone?” Mr. Jung continues, urging Jaehyun to show the face of his guest. 

From where Taeyong stands, dwelling in the shadows of the curving walls, he can see how tense Jaehyun has become, eyes lidded downwards in blatant disinterest. 

“They couldn’t make it,” Jaehyun replies curtly, not wanting to dwell on the topic any longer. 

The florist makes a scattering run for the exit, head ducked down in order to avoid any unwanted attention. Unfortunately for him; however, even at his old age, Mr. Jung Jaewook has eyes sharper than a falcon. He spots Taeyong’s retreating figure, wafting him over with a quick swift hand along with an overly friendly smile.

Taeyong warily bites his lips, but cowers over to Mr. Jung’s place regardless. 

“Jaehyun, meet Lee Taeyong,” he proudly presents, a grand gesture of his hand pointed towards Taeyong’s figure. “He’s the one that has made all the arrangements you asked me of.”

There’s a knowing glint that flashes across Jaehyun’s piercing eyes, staring Taeyong down in an analytical fashion. After a moment of silence, long and agonizing for the florist, Jaehyun quirks a smile that doesn’t settle easily in Taeyong’s stomach.

It’s sly, sharpening the curves of his face, resembling more of a smirk than a gracious smile. Jaehyun seems to know this, too, only crouching closer to Taeyong with the same look etched over his face. 

“Is that why you told me you couldn’t make it?”

Taeyong blinks, “What?”

And just as confused as the florist is, Mr. Jung lowers his hands that come over Taeyong’s shoulder. 

Jaehyun; however, doesn’t seem phased, “He was supposed to be my date,” he quips casually, reaching a hand out to grab Taeyong by his forearm. “Said he had something else to do.”

Taeyong knows that the right thing to do is to deny it, but with the warmth that cradles his arm, searing his heart, the florist is only too guilty to do anything other than to oblige to Jaehyun. 

Mr. Jung lets out a boisterous laugh, throwing his head back in amusement, “Is that so? This is the person you told me about that day? The person you love?”

Taeyong’s heart skips a beat, skin reddening at the accusation. “I’m—” he starts, only to receive a tight squeeze on his arm. He glances up at the lawyer, gaze only reaching right below Jaehyun’s eyes. 

Jaehyun looks back at him, almost pleadingly, from what Taeyong can see from his peripheral vision. So he wills himself to stand quietly and let the lawyer do all the talking, even though they are lies. 

“Yes, we met two months ago when Mark was detained,” Jaehyun reminisces, a light lilt coating his honey-like voice. “He’s the one that wrote the magnificent statement I told you about, really saved me a lot of time asking for details.”

Mr. Jung grazes his eyes over Taeyong and Jaehyun, as if he was debating between the two, “And does Secretary Kim know about this?”

“Why should Secretary Kim know about my personal life?” Jaehyun retorts, defensiveness high in his tone.

“Well, I suppose he would, considering that you two are stuck at the hip.”

Jaehyun chuckles, awkwardly, lightly removing his hand from Taeyong’s arm. Frowning at the sudden lack of warmth, the florist takes a step away from the lawyer, keeping his personal space defined. 

“Is he your soulmate, then?” Jaehyun’s father continues, curiosity drilling him from within. 

Taeyong stiffens, hand flying up to cover the already hidden mark with his finger. But he doesn’t have to worry for long when Mr. Jung lets out a sigh, accompanied by a shake of his head, “I apologize, not many of you youths really care much about that, do you? I guess it wouldn’t matter then.”

The florist smiles patiently, slowly lowering his defensive hand. Perhaps if he hadn’t felt so bad about his own soulmate’s true identity, Taeyong would’ve felt much happier being in a situation like this, wrapped up by endearing questions from Jaehyun’s father and the rest of his family.

Isn’t this what Taeyong wanted since ten years ago?

“Well, Taeyong,” Mr. Jung starts, perhaps feeling more acquainted to the florist than before, “Would you stay with my son for tonight?” 

Taeyong’s mouth runs dry when two pairs of expectant eyes ogle him, awaiting his answer. He looks up at Jaehyun for confirmation, only to receive a curt nod. 

“I’m not dressed properly,” Taeyong mutters out, tugging at the hem of his hoodie, eyes staring at the pair of old white shoes that are no longer white; now browning and smudged with splotches of random colors. “I can’t.”

Jaehyun registers Taeyong’s dilemma quickly, grip quickly returning on the florist’s arm, “It’s alright, love,” he convinces, “There’s a dressing room a few floors down. I’ll tell my secretary to bring you something, hmm?”

Taeyong doesn’t get a chance to deny the offer before the lawyer drags him away from the crowd, taking him down a flight of stairs with rushed footsteps, eager to be free from judgemental, expectant eyes. 

But even with all those eyes gone, one pair with stern brown orbs still remain. 

It doesn’t make Taeyong feel any better when the thought that he’s left Yuta alone crosses his mind. 

The dressing room is quite small, especially in comparison to the grand space of the whole entire event hall. Its looks define its age, telling stories of careless repair jobs not worth it of the dressing room, making it look like a mere storage room compared to the rest of the establishment. It’s cozy, reminding Taeyong of his flower shop, but it lacks color; walls splotched with a lackluster gray. 

“It’s nice meeting you again, Lee Taeyong.” 

The florist only hums in response, feeling shy under Jaehyun’s piercing gaze. As much as he likes Jaehyun, with ten years of hidden feelings even after a relationship, Taeyong would much rather be stuck in his flower shop with Yuta rambling on and on about Ten’s practically tasteless coffee. 

“I don’t think I can stay,” Taeyong quickly announces, taking slow steps backwards from Jaehyun’s position, “I still have things to do at the shop.”

“Help me out,” Jaehyun practically pleads, although he comes off more conceited and prideful than Taeyong would like, almost cunning and sly. “My father wants me to find a partner, and in a situation like this, how can I say no?”

Taeyong sighs, feeling pity for the man; although, there’s a large part of him that wants to sass Jaehyun out and run away from this whole ordeal. 

“Listen, Taeyong,” the lawyer speaks up again, voice softer and more delicate than before, “It will mean a lot to me, sincerely, if you would let me spend some time with you today. Please.”

It brings Taeyong back to his high school days when Jaehyun would approach him and his group of friends, a bright smile on his face with the purpose of inviting the boys to his debate competition. And the florist realizes something:

Jaehyun has never changed even once. Even with the riches, the title, the fame; Jung Jaehyun, Jung Yoonoh, is the same as he was before. 

“Fine.”

And the relief makes way on to Jaehyun’s face, softening his wrinkled forehead and smoothing out his rumpled frown. Subtly, but surely, Taeyong also lets himself relax, muscles coming undone and shoulders slouching only slightly. 

The corners of Jaehyun’s lips upturns into a soft smile, and the male comes closer to place a heavy hand on Taeyong’s shoulder, “Thank you,” a breath, “Now, your size?”

Dumbfounded, Taeyong blinks rapidly, “Huh?”

“For your clothes,” Jaehyun explains quickly, glancing down at the florist’s shoes with a grimace, “And shoes.”

The older male blushed with embarrassment, muttering a soft “oh” in return. 

“Don’t worry,” Jaehyun quips, “The event won’t start until an hour later, we won’t be late.”

Taeyong only hopes that Yuta is doing fine on his own.

It takes less than thirty minutes of waiting when there’s a soft knock on the door. 

Jaehyun and Taeyong has claimed their own opposite corners of the room, with the lawyer being more entertained by his phone, perhaps relating to work, than his supposed date. 

The florist is grateful for the sudden silence, having time to send Yuta a text, telling the Japanese man to go home without him. He feels bad, of course, but the sudden flurries of vulgar, suggestive text messages makes him feel less pitiful. 

Taeyong doesn’t feel disappointed with the lack of conversation between the two of them either, surprisingly, taking advantage of the time to carefully admire Jaehyun’s features; from his sharp eyebrows to the tips of his hair. And the lawyer doesn’t seem to notice, with the way that Taeyong’s eyes shift too quickly to be caught.

Jaehyun has indeed grown up. 

But now, Jaehyun’s spot is no longer in a ragged arm chair in the corner of the room. Now, the lawyer practically sprints to swing the door open, beaming in relief at the figure that makes his own grand entrance.

“Doyoung,” Jaehyun breathes, euphoria coursing through his veins and unraveling his wounded muscles, “You made it.”

At the sudden mention of the familiar name, Taeyong slides down from his spot on top of the vanity counter, eyes roaming over towards the door in panic in search for the man. 

“Taeyong,” Doyoung regards, grinning softly, “It’s a surprise seeing you here. Never thought I’d be buying you designer clothing.” 

He sticks his arm out, loosely clutching endless shopping bags, all embellished by a known brand of some kind, ones that Taeyong has only ever heard of, never actually owned. 

“You two know each other,” Jaehyun concludes quickly, “I’ll leave Doyoung to help you change. Meet me outside at the banquet hall.”

And with that, Jaehyun swiftly leaves the room, leaving it hollow with only Taeyong and Doyoung occupying it. 

There’s a heavy silence that settles in between the two, thick and suffocating. Taeyong supposes that he too doesn’t know what to say in such a situation.

“I know how to dress myself, I’m not a toddler.” Taeyong utters, voice wavering under its stern façade. 

Doyoung smiles gently, reassuringly, something Taeyong hasn’t seen from the man in a long time. “I know.”

Taeyong wrinkles his nose at the man’s sudden tone, but he doesn’t get a chance to kick the secretary out when his mind is quick to remind him of the item in his back pocket. 

“I have something of yours,” he announced, pulling the pen from his pocket. “I don’t know if you’d want it back though.”

Doyoung freezes up momentarily, eyes wandering from Taeyong’s expression to the pen in his hand. The florist offers him a comforting smile, disappointed and perhaps a little crestfallen. He’s understandable about it, so the pen is wrapped up in his hands. 

“It’s okay,” Taeyong states, letting his hand fall, “It’s okay if you don’t want it anymore.”

He proceeds to push the pen back into his pocket, but his actions are halted when Doyoung grasps at his elbow, returning the dim smile that Taeyong had spotted before. 

“I want it,” Doyoung says, “I’ve been looking for it.”

“Have you?”

Doyoung lets out a weak laugh at Taeyong’s teasing tone. It’s a little dry, but Taeyong is happy to hear it again. “Of course I have, but I didn’t expect it to be with you,” he explains, a lilt tinging his voice. “Where did you find it?”

“Ten gave it to me, you left it at the café.” 

“Ah,” the secretary realizes, an awkward hand coming up to rub his nape, “Did Ten see anything else?”

Taeyong quirks his head to the side at the question, confusion lacing his brows together, “Did you leave something else there?”

“No,” a sigh, “Nothing else.”

Taeyong nods, dropping the pen in Doyoung’s hand. “If you lose it next time, I won’t be there to pick it up.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do,” the florist comments, sighing. 

“You’d better change,” Doyoung quips, glancing at the watch that adorns his wrist, “We’ll be late if you don’t hurry.”

The white button up feels a little too big on his body, despite it being his size, and as instructed, it’s unbuttoned until the second button, showing a pale expanse of Taeyong’s skin. He’s not a fan of it, especially the flowing excess fabric that adorns his sleeves, making the arms of the shirt longer than necessary, but he supposes that fashion is still fashion. 

His favorite piece is most likely the pants, similar to regular black pants that he’d wear on a daily, and perhaps the price tag is the only thing that differentiates it. Taeyong thinks that it’s not worth the money.

The florist busily brushes a hand through his hair once, only enough to fix the crimson red strands that have gone astray from hours of prolonged work. He doesn’t need to look too long in the mirror, knowing that no matter what, he’ll just be here for a little while, not too long to be judged too harshly on his appearance. 

Or what social class he came from. 

Taeyong wanders through the halls and up a flight of carpeted stairs once he’s finished, following the loud echoes of chirpy chatter and obnoxious laughter like a map until he reaches the familiar room.

Jaehyun stands at the doorway, tapping his foot in rhythm on the marble floors, impatiently glancing at his watch. Looking at the scene, Taeyong feels guilt pour down into his stomach, weighing him down.

“I’m sorry,” he says, announcing his presence, “I had a chat with Doyoung and this shirt has way too much fabric that I couldn’t figure out.” 

Jaehyun offers him a brittle smile, “It’s no problem. You have fifteen minutes left anyways.”

Taeyong hums, glad that Jaehyun is so understanding, but his relaxed state doesn’t last long. The lawyer is quick to grab his arm, hooking it with his own. And Taeyong, who has barely had physical contact with anyone, reddens furiously at the sudden action.

“Let’s go, shall we?” 

Once they step one foot through the doorway, an uproar is something Taeyong would least expect to come from such prestigious figures of society. And he’s glad it’s a private event, free from the media and chirpy journalists. 

But Jaehyun’s mother is considerably so much worse. 

Taeyong’s seated at the table with Jaehyun’s parents, awkwardly fiddling with his hands when the lawyer’s mother pops a question.

“So when do you guys plan on getting married?” 

Taeyong chokes on air and Jaehyun freezes in the middle of his own laughter, caused by a conversation he was having with a waiter nearby. 

“Honey,” Mr. Jung chides, relentless, “They just met two months ago.”

“Of course, but you know how today’s kids are married early,” she defends, “Mrs. Park’s daughter is twenty and is already engaged.”

“Mrs. Park’s daughter is different,” Jaehyun sighs, staring at his mother with an unknown flame in his eyes, “I want to take it slow, be serious with it. Isn’t that right, Dad?”

The elderly man nods in agreement, satisfied with his son’s argument, “One hundred percent, son,” he encourages, throwing a thumbs up towards the lawyer, “I’m glad you’ve found someone you’re serious with.”

Taeyong sinks in his seat, already feeling too speechless to add in his own words. 

Fortunately, the rest of the dinner goes more smoothly than Taeyong expects. Jaehyun’s mother, although wildly curious, is also wildly nice. And his father is quite generous with his encouraging statements, making Taeyong feel a little more worth it in such an environment. 

The law firm’s employees were also quite talkative and energetic. Mark, who Taeyong recognizes, easily makes conversation with the florist, discussing the event that happened two months prior and offers an apology to Taeyong and Haechan alike. 

The florist learns a lot from the employees, specifically Sicheng, who he learns is an investigator for the firm, and is quite good at what he does. 

All of them, Mark and Sicheng included, found it surprising to see their superiors arrive with company, and Taeyong has never felt more guilty about lying. Perhaps it feels worse when it’s to a group of people, all capable and high up on the social ladder.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, doesn’t say much to him. And when he does, he keeps his conversations short and words even shorter; dismissive even. 

And he doesn’t stay for long, either. 

Doyoung makes an appearance half way into the dinner, sauntering over to Jaehyun’s side of the table. Mr. Jung frowns upon seeing his presence but doesn’t say a single word. 

The secretary looks stressed, as Taeyong can see from the wrinkles on his forehead and the frown the downturns his lips is worrisome. But Taeyong keeps silent instead of expressing his concern, something that he’s done for Doyoung often back then. 

Doyoung crouches down to Jaehyun’s seated height, keeping his words hushed and quick. And when he’s done, Jaehyun mirrors his expression, horrified at whatever he’s been told.

The lawyer looks at Sicheng and Mark with a knowing look in his eyes, and as if on instinct, the pair sits up, taking one last swig from their drinks and gather their things, hurriedly exiting the place.

“Where are you four going?” Jaehyun’s mother hastily questions before Jaehyun even has a chance to step away from their table.

Jaehyun sighs, throwing his suit jacket over his shoulder, “The firm needs some help.”

And it’s the last words he says before trailing behind the other three employees, leaving the seat besides Taeyong empty.

Mrs. Jung turns to the florist, eyes wide and curious, “Did you hear what Secretary Kim told him?”

Taeyong ponders for a bit, trying to recall Doyoung’s soft words.

“Something about how the police found a witness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uhm... i love jaehyun and his black hair :)


	4. the worst of me, the best of you

On one hand, he’s glad that he doesn’t have to spend another second at the company dinner, pretending to act all lovey dovey with someone he doesn’t even have an interest in. It was sickening, to the point where he kept his head down the whole entire time, limiting his words and being steady with his character. Although a part of him is dwelling in guilt for feeling that way.

On the other hand, Jaehyun is stuck at his firm’s conference room, discussing ways to win the upcoming court hearing with a clear witness in their way.

He sits in the center chair, presented like the crowning jewel of a melancholic art piece while Sicheng explains the situation with information he’s received from his fellow coworkers at the police department. 

Mark listens attentively, notebook open and pages crinkled as he jots down short notes here and there. Jaehyun finds it only a tinge endearing; being the rookie is a heavy burden, but Mark is taking it well. 

But Doyoung, his loyal secretary and lover, is focused on something entirely different. 

The man has a black pen clenched between his fingers, occasionally twirling the object in between the pauses in Sicheng’s presentation. Doyoung ogles the pen as if it were a delicate piece of art, admiring it from the angle where he sits.

Jaehyun grazes over the male curiously, an eyebrow quirking up on instinct when Doyoung stuffs the pen back into his pocket, almost aggressively even. 

“Jaehyun,” Sicheng addresses politely, eyes glazed with tantalizing sleep, “Do you have any suggestions after listening to the witness testimony?”

The lawyer folds his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair in a casual, nonchalant manner, “Does the victim have any past mental illnesses that you know of?”

“Why do we need to know that?” Mark questions, hand up as if he was still a college student, patiently waiting to answer a professor’s inquiry. 

Jaehyun pauses, “If we can’t directly target the witness, then we can target the victim to get to the witness,” he explains, wording in code that has Mark tilting his head in confusion. “Meaning that we can find a flaw that proves the witness’s testimony to be unreliable in the victim.”

Perhaps the intern is still confused, because despite his understanding nod, a frown still paints across his face. Sicheng seems to follow through with Jaehyun’s words though, clicking his tongue and moving his attention back on to the folders. 

“We’ll have to get files on that, but as of now, not much.” Sicheng flips through a binder, thick and bent at the edges, “It says in her medical records that she’s perfectly healthy, mentally and physically.”

“She’s never been to a psychiatrist even once?” Mark gapes, surprised by the information.

Three pairs of eyes turn to him, deadpanning and dull, “Why are you so surprised?” Doyoung asks, voice dry and unamused.

“I mean, Choi Sungwoo is known for his works because he says it encourages mental illness patients to open up more about their problems through art,” Mark explains, voice positive and sure of what he’s telling, “A friend from my university’s psychology major texted me after hearing about the news.”

Jaehyun nods, a subtle smirk lingers on his lips. “Exactly. Good job, Mark,” he compliments, ruffling a hand through the younger male’s pitch black hair, “Many of his fans are people that suffer from schizophrenia or PTSD.”

Doyoung hums, jotting down the information, “Tomorrow Sicheng and I will work on getting her mental health diagnosis,” he stops and points at Mark and Jaehyun, eyes filled to the brim with authority, “You two will talk to Choi Sungwoo.”

Jaehyun scoffs, eyes flaring with the same amount of determination that flickers across the secretary’s brown orbs, contorting his smoothed features, “You’re giving me orders now, huh?”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t if you weren’t so busy flirting with your boyfriend and didn’t pay attention to your own case,” Doyoung answers, unphased. There’s a small amount of venom the coats his voice, jabbing sharply at Jaehyun’s behavior.

“When did I—”

“Doyoung,” Sicheng sighs and cuts Jaehyun off, rubbing his temples, “It was off hours, he wouldn’t have known.”

Mark nods in agreement, slinging a friendly arm over Jaehyun’s shoulder, “Yeah, plus it’s the first time I’ve seen Jaehyun with a date so let him off the hook once, please? We already got to the testimony in time.”

Doyoung huffs, standing up. He collects his stuff off the table, gathering the folders up in his arms. “Yeah, one more minute late and we would’ve been a step behind the prosecution.”

“And we aren’t,” Jaehyun assures, following Doyoung’s steps. He throws his suit jacket over his shoulders, waving a hand to dismiss the rest of the employees.

The pair cram into the elevator, letting the silence settles between them. Doyoung refuses to stand any closer than three steps to Jaehyun, head turned in the opposite direction. 

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” Jaehyun teases, a hand coming up to rest over the secretary’s nape.

Doyoung shakes the lawyer’s hand off his neck, shooting a glare towards the younger man, “There’s cameras in here.”

Jaehyun sighs, letting his hand fall back beside him. The silence doesn’t disperse from there. Instead, it becomes thicker, more tense than before. Having enough of it, the lawyer shifts, “Should I explain myself, perhaps?”

Doyoung sends a fleeting glance towards the man, eyes doubtful. Jaehyun ogles the man lovingly, a smile pulling on his lips, “How about over some alcohol?”

“Really now?” Doyoung smirks, eyes glinting with mischief. “With some expensive chardonnay?”

“I know the perfect place.”

The pub is nice. It’s small but cozier than most bars along the streets of Seoul. The entire establishment, unsurprisingly, reeks of alcohol; the strong and sharp aroma whirling around the small area, luring customers into the pub. 

Despite its odor, the pub is restricted to high-paying customers, all of prestigious background and are currently living lives of fame. High-class businessmen flood the building, scattering around different corners of the pub as they solemnly sip on their own drinks. 

Doyoung is quite impressed, keeping his eyes trained on a few customers that flee with their heads held high; however, their unkempt appearance betraying them by a few fumbled steps. 

Jaehyun takes Doyoung by the wrist, dragging him towards a table, tucked away by a few curtains which surround the corner, keeping them both in their own private world. 

“Stay here,” Jaehyun orders, pushing the man lightly onto the seat, “I’ll get us some drinks.”

Doyoung nods, a coy smile playing on his face. Jaehyun flashes him a similar grin, rushing off with crinkles in his eyes and his wallet clutched between his fingers.

As he waits, Doyoung busies himself with wandering eyes, suspiciously glancing around at the other customers in the pub. And he dislikes what he sees.

Plenty of prestigious, pompous public figures, many who already have wives, surround themselves with other high class women, entertaining the females with an open wallet, a few jokes here and there, and expensive drinks. 

Doyoung sneers at the sight, eyes narrowing dangerously into thin slits. His fists clench up on his lap, whitening the flesh that covers his knuckles. The secretary bites his lips and crosses his legs, trying to calm the burning urge to stand up and confront them.   
But then he thinks back to his own situation.

He’s in a public place with someone he’s not supposed to be with.

Perhaps he’s being a hypocrite. 

Jaehyun comes back in the middle of Doyoung’s rushing train of thought, crashing it with a gentle touch on his shoulder. 

“You okay?” Jaehyun questions, caring and sympathetic. Doyoung is surprised that even Jung Jaehyun can feel sympathy. 

He doesn’t say that out loud, of course, only offering the younger man a tight-lipped smile, “Of course,” he dismisses, grabbing a drink from the lawyer’s hand, “I would probably feel better if you explained what happened back there at the dinner.”

Jaehyun chuckles, loosening his tie. He throws the material across the table, letting a part of it dangle off the edge. “First off, just know that I don’t have any feelings for him,” he clarifies quickly, “I had to think quick.”

“Because your father wanted you to go with someone else, and he was just there?”

“He was delivering the floral arrangements,” Jaehyun explains, “He looked pretty easy to manipulate so I took my chance with it.”

Doyoung nods, placing a hand on Jaehyun’s thigh, “Hmm well you’re right,” he laughs, pulling out the black pen, “But you should probably be careful with it.”

“And what do you mean by that?” 

“Taeyong is…” he pauses, clicking the pen, “He’s different from his appearance.”

Jaehyun gently takes the object from Doyoung’s hand, sliding it in between his own fingers. The lawyer spins it around, twirling it impressively around his hand, “Right,” he sighs, “You two know each other. Bad history?” 

Doyoung hums, pondering. He can’t possibly lie to Jaehyun, a lawyer who has a history of overturning cases despite knowing the truth behind his clients’ actions. Doyoung has witnessed Jaehyun’s outburst before.

It was a year ago in the interrogation room. Jaehyun was seeing his client, the murder suspect, privately. The suspect, a woman in her late forties with a fortune worth millions of diamonds, had lied about a very minor detail, claiming that she had destroyed the murder weapon when in truth, she threw the knife into the Han river. 

Jaehyun had managed to figure it out, and out of anger, the lawyer tore apart the interrogation room, bursting out the door all the while claiming that he will no longer handle the case. 

Doyoung knows that it’s best to not lie to a man who’s made of flames, soul sparking with flickers of red and orange. 

“We were friends,” Doyoung says casually, reminiscing about the days when the two still talked normally with carefree voices, “Best friends if you want to be elementary about it.”

Jaehyun swings an arm over Doyoung’s shoulder, taking a swig of his bourbon, “And what happened?”

“I don’t think you should be worrying about that when you have to go against a witness testimony,” Doyoung chides, sipping only a drop of alcohol from his cup. “What are you planning to do about it?”

The secretary doesn’t need to know about Jaehyun’s plans, only using the topic as a distraction. 

Doyoung knows exactly what he, himself, is going to do about it, however.

But he doesn’t say a word to Jaehyun, coaxing him with a smile, outwardly comforting and sweet, but inwardly coy and dangerous.

“I’ll just have to disprove their testimony,” he says with a heavy voice, dunking down the rest of his alcohol into his mouth. He hisses at the burn that coats his tongue, pouring in another glassful. “There’s really nothing we can do about it.”

Jaehyun shakes his head silently, tossing the pen back towards his secretary, hands falling limp on his lap. 

He’s defeated.

Doyoung nods in faux understanding, leaning back as he watches Jaehyun down glass after glass of alcohol.

Half an hour passes and the secretary can see that Jaehyun is visibly drunk, with the way he slurs his words when he talks and how his pale, alabaster skin is now flushed red. 

Doyoung smiles, leaning in. He pulls out his phone, clicking on the ‘record’ button.

“The witness,” he starts, whispering, “What do you plan on doing with him?”

Jaehyun chuckles drunkenly, a stray hand wafting animatedly in the air, “If I could,” he hisses, slamming back another glassful of bourbon, “I would get rid of him. How else am I supposed to win this case?” 

Doyoung pulls back, scrunching his nose up in mild disgust.

Jaehyun’s breath reeks of alcohol, and it’s clear that he’s way too far gone to understand what he’s saying.

“So why don’t you do it? Get rid of him?”

“I’m a lawyer, Doyoung,” the lawyer deadpans, eyes half-lidded and dropping, “I would get my license suspended for obstruction of justice, not to mention life in prison for first degree murder.”

He says it in such a way that would be amusing, words incoherent and only slightly childish. In any other situation, Doyoung would have laughed, but not now.

“Do you want me to kill him?” He continues, coercing the words from Jaehyun’s lips. “You know you want him gone, right?”

“You? Kill the witness?” Jaehyun points a finger at Doyoung, “Should you?”

Doyoung grins maliciously, smirking, “Do you want me to?”

“I want you to, of course!”

Doyoung looks back at his phone, ending the recording and stuffing it back in his pocket.

But Jaehyun wasn’t done speaking, and the secretary knows this.

“But I know it’s not possible,” Jaehyun continues, voice softer, “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Doyoung taps a hand on Jaehyun’s cheek, leaving a soft peck on the lawyer’s cheekbone, “I won’t.”

It’s as if life has struck him in the back of the head once he opened his eyes, staring face to face at the blank ceiling of his home. 

Jaehyun grunts, too afraid to move his head from the piercing headache that spreads across his skull. His limbs are twisted in the midst of his duvet, covering him in a homely warmth. The lawyer groans, feeling his joints crack as he shifts and stretches across the bed. 

With a single huff, Jaehyun pushes himself up from the comfortable material, leaving the warmth of his bed with only mild difficulties. The headache in his head doesn’t disperse; instead, it gets harder for him to keep his eyes open from the severe pain that singes his scalp. Despite his souring mood, Jaehyun reaches for his phone, smiling out of instinct at the loving text messages Doyoung has left him in the middle of the night.

Jaehyun laughs at his own love-stricken self, dragging his spent out body into the kitchen, lips craving for the bitter taste of dark coffee. The lawyer leans against the countertop, picking and choosing from the variety of coffee beans that decorate his cabinets. 

Satisfied with his pick, Jaehyun takes a cupful of darkened coffee beans, grinding them up into a fine powder. The lawyer looks at it from all different angles, eyebrows quirking animatedly when he’s content with its results. The young man dumps the powder into a filter, wetting it with scorching hot water and waits patiently. 

In the midst of his waiting, Jaehyun lets his legs carry him to the living room, hand reaching out for the television control. He throws himself onto the couch, sore legs outstretched into a more comfortable position. The lawyer turns on the television, gaze hazy as he listens to the latest news, hoping that his case would make an appearance for more public attention.  
And it does.

But it’s not in the way that Jaehyun imagines it to be. 

A part of him is happy, glad that there’s one less obstacle to the case. And a part of him panics, scared of what is to come. 

Jaehyun hisses, running an aggressive hand through his caramel brown hair, close to ripping its edges from his scalp. Frustration courses through his veins as he reaches for his phone, dialing a number that he knows by heart. The line, unsurprisingly, picks up after the second ring, and from the gurgle from the other line, Jaehyun can tell that the other man is still half asleep.

“What did you do?” Jaehyun snides through his phone, knuckles turning a ghostly pale white from the pressure he’s putting into his grip, “Actually, forget about asking questions over the phone. Meet me at the coffee shop from last time.”

Before Doyoung has a chance to answer, Jaehyun hangs up out of pure exasperation, dashing towards his closet for a fresh set of clothing, coffee left forgotten on the countertop in his kitchen.

The café is nearly empty when Jaehyun enters. He supposed that it’s too early in the morning for such sweet items and treats. It’s better for him anyways, eyes searching for Doyoung’s presence in the vast area.

And it isn’t hard to find him, considering the only other people there were the waiters, and a couple who cuddled in the corner of the store.

He walks with his head held up, talking long strides towards the older male and carefully sits down, eyes trained on Doyoung’s figure.

“You killed him,” Jaehyun whispers harshly, wary of the dozen pairs of eyes that he supposes are looking at them, staring the two down for their crimes, “Did you kill the witness?”

“No,” Doyoung answers cooly, seemingly unphased by Jaehyun’s tensed up shoulders and violent breathing. He’s scared, Doyoung thinks to himself, quite amused by how the almighty Jung Jaehyun is crumbling down right in front of him.

“You’re lying,” Jaehyun sneers, nostrils flaring up in frustration. He glares bullets through Doyoung’s face, his eyes wide with anger and accusation. “You’re lying through your teeth and you fucking know it.”

Doyoung leans in over his drink, challenging the younger man with an equally as intimidating gaze, “I’m not,” he answers again, voice stern and unwavering, “Do you want to know the truth?”

Jaehyun’s gaze flickers up, feeling eyes boring into him from a different angle. He catches the waiter from before, Lee Haechan, whose hands busily wipe down mug after mug but whose eyes are trained on the pair, questioning and curious. He looks away soon enough, perhaps he’s embarrassed from being caught by Jaehyun, himself.

“Tell me the truth then,” Jaehyun encourages, looking back at Doyoung, “Your truth.”

“You were the one who told me to kill him,” Doyoung explains, taking a long sip from his tea. He doesn’t need to look at Jaehyun to understand the shock that the lawyer’s feeling. He can understand Jaehyun as if he was an open book. And he knows from experience, Jaehyun is never visibly upset at himself. 

“Lies,” he denies, trying to keep his cool in such a public place, “Stop lying to me.”

Doyoung frowns, trying his best to look desperate for Jaehyun’s trust, “I’m not lying,” he pleads, “You were probably drunk, but I know your words were sincere.”

“Why,” Jaehyun whispers, looking just as exasperated as Doyoung is, “Why did you listen to me then?”

Doyoung gives the man a gentle smile, holding back the urge to reach out for Jaehyun’s hand. “Because I love you,” he confesses, gauging for the lawyer’s reaction, “And I want you to win this one. You have to.”

“What did you kill him with,” Jaehyun questions, more relaxed than he had been before, “Where’s the murder weapon?”

Doyoung reaches into his pocket, fishing out the familiar object that had been the focus of the secretary’s attention ever since he got it back. 

The pen.

“This,” the secretary starts, voice low, “This pen was the cause of the last blow.”

“The last blow,” Jaehyun repeats, observing the object. It’s clean, no traces of blood present on its black skeleton, “What else did you do?”

“It’s not what I did,” Doyoung chides, stuffing the pen back into his pocket, “It’s what Lucas did.”

“Lucas? The firm’s security guard?”

“He was desperate to know where his mother is buried. I thought it’d be best for him to do the job,” the secretary retells, an amused expression crinkles around his face, “He did a pretty poor job, though. I went to the scene to inspect and the man was still alive.”

Jaehyun, although horrified by the information he’s given, is also somewhat relieved by Doyoung’s actions. It’s safer, and only a part of him feels bad for throwing Lucas, one of his most trusted employees under the bus. But the feeling doesn’t last long enough for him to feel as if he’s human, capable of feeling such pity and sympathy.

Jaehyun shouldn’t feel that way.

He can’t.

“And so you stabbed him with your pen,” Jaehyun deadpans, unbothered by his own words, “Where’s Lucas now?”

“Probably freaking out,” Doyoung sneers, eyes rolling to add a more dramatic flare, “I didn’t tell him about it though, the thing that you did a year ago to win the Zheng’s case, so don’t worry.”

Jaehyun lets a breath that he’s been holding out of his mouth, a passive exhale that loosens up his muscles, “But he knows where I buried his mother.”

“A deal is a deal, sweetheart,” Doyoung sighs, resting his head drowsily on the palm of his hand, “Be glad he doesn’t know that it was you who did it. The man was just glad to see his dead mother again.”

“Right, it’s a pity that—”

“Sorry to interrupt your conversation,” a young man says, approaching the table. He wears an apron across his waist and his hands hold out two plates of pastries, decorated elegantly with fruits and whipped cream. “The owner sent these out for you two. It’s on the house.”

Jaehyun disregards the boy, eyes squinting at his peculiarly dyed hair. It’s blonde, a nice platinum color that the lawyer would’ve liked if he were younger and more immature. But the thing that makes him do a double take is the tuff of blue that adorns his otherwise blonde fringe. 

Doyoung, on the other hand, doesn’t seem bothered by it, unphased and smiling pleasantly, “Tell Ten I said thank you.”

“Of course!” the boy exclaims cheerily, flashing the two a sincere, bright smile, “I’m Jaemin, by the way, if you have anything else you need.”

Jaehyun doesn’t really care, and he wants to voice his opinion, but he’s not twelve; he knows not to be rude. So instead, he takes his wallet out of his pocket, fishing out a stack of bills.

“Thank you,” he stuffs the bills into Jaemin’s hands, “But we won’t be needing anything else.”

The boy holds the money awkwardly in his hands, arm stretched out in hopes that Jaehyun would change his mind and take the bills back. But the lawyer wafts his, shooing Jaemin away.

“You don’t have to be rude,” Doyoung chides, taking a bite of the pastry. He smiles, the taste feeling nostalgic.

“I wasn’t,” Jaehyun retorts, defensive, “I paid him for his service.”

“In a rude way,” the secretary argues, “It doesn’t matter anyways.”

Jaehyun hums, staring back at his own treats. It’s a plate of strawberry macarons, embellished with slices of strawberry and pink-tinted cream. Debating with himself for a mere minute, Jaehyun shakes his head, pushing the plate away. 

“You know the owner?”

Doyoung blinks, halting mid bite, “Yeah,” he answers, hesitant, “He used to hang out with Taeyong and I.”

“Let’s not talk about Taeyong anymore, hmm?” Jaehyun utters, exasperated, “I’m tired of hearing his name. My parents blew up my phone with questions about him this morning.”

Doyoung chuckles, entertained by Jaehyun’s frustration, “Do you really not like him?”

“No,” Jaehyun answers sternly, looking straight into Doyoung’s eyes, “I like you.”

The secretary laughs, partially choking on his pie. He shakes his head, amused, but it doesn’t last long until his phone rings, messages flooding in one after another. 

He reads them all carefully, eyes going wide at the news he’s receiving. “Jaehyun,” he calls out, “The public are suspecting our law firm.”

“What?”

Doyoung shoves his phone into Jaehyun’s hand, pointing at the text messages from Mark and Sicheng, who are all frantically trying to contact him.

They sent pictures, news stations flooding the doors of the complex where the firm is located. Out a sheer panic, the images are blurry, as if their hands were shaking when they took it. Jaehyun feels the panic coursing through his body, but he manages to keep his composure. 

There are articles, too, furiously talking about the firm’s negligence and evil intentions. None of the articles have mentioned Jaehyun specifically, only theorizing that this was a stunt pulled by the whole entire firm in hopes to help up publicity after Lawyer Jung has won the case. 

It makes no sense, Jaehyun thinks, knowing that reporters and netizens are just as brainless as most of his clients, but he doesn’t say it out loud. It doesn’t help that there is a television at the café, always playing the current news. And it doesn’t sit well with him that the subject the news station is talking about is the Jung law firm. 

Out of haste, Jaehyun dumps a few bills on the table, tucking them under his coffee mug. “We need to get to the firm, right now.”

Doyoung blinks in surprise, “You want to go to the firm when there’s a hoard of people waiting to ask you questions about this?”

“They’re accusing the whole entire firm for the murder,” Jaehyun hisses in response, “They’re accusing my dad for negligence. They’re saying that my firm, my family’s law firm, is a crime house. You think I can just let it go?”

“Since when did you care?” Doyoung practically whispers, keeping his voice low, “Since when did you care about the firm and not yourself?”

“Ever since I realized that this can affect me—affect us, too.” Jaehyun replies, “If they get too close, they’ll find everything we did.”

“And they won’t,” the older man convinces, “Not if we have other news to cover it up with.”

Jaehyun freezes up at Doyoung’s words, an eyebrow raised in suspicion, “Other news?”

“You’re South Korea’s renowned bachelor. Rich and handsome. The public would freak if they know you weren’t.”

“We can’t,” Jaehyun rebukes, a deep frown etched along his face, “No one can know about us.”

Doyoung shakes his head, “I know, babe,” he relents, “I’m not talking about you and I.”

“Then who?”

“What does the public love to see?” Doyoung interrogates, “They want to see a gracious bachelor dating a well-loved citizen, whose social class is below yours.”

As if he is understanding where Doyoung is getting at, Jaehyun retreats, “No,” he glowers, stern and mildly threatening, “You are not insinuating—”

“Date Taeyong.”

Jaehyun bites down on his lip, holding back the urge to slam his palm on the table. He shouldn’t, he knows, they’re in public.

“Are you fucking crazy,” it comes out more like a statement than a question, aggressive and unfathomable. 

“Crazy is one of the few negative qualities that I am not, love,” Doyoung assures, “Listen, Taeyong is adored by so many people here in Seoul. He’s the only flower shop around this area, and his business is always swell.”

“How do you even know this?”

“When Taeyong and I were friends, I used to work for him at his shop,” Doyoung recalls, “He doesn’t make money like you, of course, but he’s well loved by all his customers.”

Jaehyun remains silent, internally debating against Doyoung’s rather convincing words. He doesn’t want to, dating someone he has no interest in is something that makes him nauseous. But at the same time, he feels like Doyoung is right. 

His face gets publicity just by being single. There are countless articles published day after day jabbing at his relationship status. Just the news of him being seen with other people who are speculated to be his lover becomes a nation-wide scandal. 

They think of him as a celebrity. 

And he’s not.

“Look,” Doyoung calls out, desperate, “You don’t even have to date him for long. Once this whole thing blows over and you win Choi Sungwoo’s case, just dump him.”

“Okay,” Jaehyun breathes, “Let’s do this.”

Doyoung grins, eyes turning into small crescents at Jaehyun’s response. “I love you," the secretary announces, void of emotion. But Jaehyun buys it anyways, love dripping from his eyes.

Maybe if he meant it then Taeyong wouldn’t have to be involved, Doyoung thinks.

Jaemin wrinkles his nose, staring down at the money clenched in his hand. The pair have already left, and the young man didn’t even get a chance to return the bills to the lawyer.

He doesn’t want it, it’s money that he doesn’t need, but he has no where to put it, no clue what to do with it.

Haechan, who has been busily wiping down the tables in place of Jaemin, notices the younger boy’s internal conflict. Throwing the rag back on to the table, the college student takes long strides to Jaemin’s place behind the counter, snatching the bills out of his hand.

“Why are you still looking at this?”

Jaemin frowns in return, running a hand through his unkempt blonde hair, “I feel bad for taking it.”

“Well you shouldn’t,” Haechan scoffs, tossing the bills into the cash register, “Didn’t you hear the news about his law firm? They’re a money laundering crime house. Lawyer Jung has plenty more.”

Jaemin scowls, lips upturned into a sneer, “You’re talking as if you know the full story.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, untying the knot of his apron, “You were close to them when they were talking. Do you know the full story?”

“It was suspicious, sure,” Jaemin starts, thinking back to the snippets of chatter that he caught while approaching the two, “But we shouldn’t stick our heads in their business.”

The older of the two quirks an eyebrow, leaning in closer to Jaemin, “Suspicious? What were they talking about?”

Before Jaemin has the chance to open his mouth and spill his guts, Ten slams the kitchen door open, eyes trained on the two in accusation. 

“You two,” he points, voice booming with authority, “Stop gossiping and get back to work. I want to go home early today.”

“And the grinch reappears,” Haechan teases, voice squeaking obnoxiously.

“Lee Haechan, put your apron back on,” Ten chides, tossing the item back into Haechan’s face.

Jaemin stares at the two with wary eyes, shaking his head in amusement.

Maybe he’ll tell Haechan about the exchanged ‘I love you’s’ some other time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i've been binging dotae fics and let me just say,, i love them ;-;


	5. as bitter as a love song

Yuta has been of no help, and it doesn’t take Taeyong long to realize this fact when he first started to talk about the law firm’s company dinner. 

At first, it started out as vulgar commentary, sometimes amusing and sometimes just uncomfortable. And it doesn’t take too long for Taeyong to get tired of the Japanese man’s overused jokes.

But recently, with so many customers flooding the store, most of them being the law firm’s coworkers, Taeyong figures he’s unamused with the fact that he’s known as Lawyer Jung’s first and last interest. 

And Yuta, who is supposed to be his loyal, trusting friend, is fully on board with the title.

Sicheng and Mark visit often, and it seems like the Japanese male is getting along with them fine, specifically Sicheng. And it’s not like Taeyong is going to complain about his friend’s interest in Jaehyun’s investigator, but for the past few days, Yuta disappears here and there during the day, always after Sicheng has visited the store.

Taeyong never really minded.

Until today.

“Yuta, can you pass me the pliers?” Taeyong calls out from behind the counter, occupied by the tragic wiring of his shop’s electrical box. 

When Yuta doesn’t answer, nor does he approach Taeyong with the item in need, the florist is exasperated to his fullest extent. He stands up from his position, searching around the store for the tuft of black hair he’s so familiarized with.

And unsurprisingly, Yuta is nowhere to be seen. 

Instead, standing behind him, is a familiar face he’s seen for ten years at a time. The subject of his conflicted feelings and guilt. 

“Sorry,” the lawyer apologizes, standing tall and confident, towering over Taeyong, “I don’t know where the pliers are.”

Speechless, Taeyong opens and closes his mouth subtly trying to register why Jaehyun is here in the first place. And out of instinct, he speaks what’s on his mind. 

“What are you doing here?”

Jaehyun smiles down at him, taking a step away from the older male. “I heard from your friend uh… Puta?”

Taeyong unconsciously snorts at the name, letting a laugh bellow through his lips. He coughs awkwardly, realizing that Jaehyun is staring at him with a questionable look, gazing curiously at the florist as to why he’s laughing.

“It’s Yuta,” Taeyong corrects softly, eyes casting downwards in embarrassment.

“Oh,” Jaehyun replies dumbly, mouth agape, “Right, Yuta told me you were having trouble with the electricity, so I thought I’d drop by to help you, as a thanks for the last time you helped me out.”

Taeyong nods, trying to create a bigger space between him and Jaehyun, struggling to keep his balance in such a cramped area. “You know Yuta?”

“Well, no,” he answers, taking a step closer to close the widening gap that Taeyong has created, “But words go around fast when he’s friends with Sicheng.”

Taeyong lets out a weak laugh, sincerely amused by Jaehyun’s words, but is too shy to let out a true laugh. He takes a glance at Jaehyun, realizing that the lawyer is no longer dressed in designer suits that cost him a years worth of rent money. 

Instead, he’s wearing a casual t-shirt, a soft baby blue that compliments his alabaster skin, and a pair of dark jeans, pitch black in color. It’s simple, but that doesn’t fool Taeyong from the fact that it is still quite expensive. 

The florist swoons momentarily, feeling a little more comfortably with Jaehyun’s outfit. However, the lawyer’s hairstyle is unchanging. Always swept up to reveal his forehead. It’s a stern look, and Taeyong feels a little too improper with his crimson red hair, strands going astray in different directions.

And he only realizes that he’s staring when Jaehyun takes one step a little too close, breath fanning over Taeyong’s forehead. 

He’s about to say something, perhaps become more defensive than necessary, but Jaehyun leans back, showing a pair of rushing pliers in his hand.

“Found them,” the lawyer chuckles, pointing at the shelf that is located above Taeyong’s head. “Where’s the box?”

The florist takes a step aside, revealing the electrical box underneath his counter. Jaehyun quirks an eyebrow, looking back at Taeyong with questioning eyes. Taeyong, in return, offers him an awkward smile.

“This building isn’t really the best at being efficient,” he explains, crouching down towards the electrical box, and tugging at the tangled wires. 

Jaehyun laughs softly, resting a comforting hand on Taeyong’s shoulder, “It’s okay,” he reassures, “But I don’t think both of us can work on it at the same time. It’s a little cramped and I’m…”

“Tall,” Taeyong finishes casually, not thinking about the words that leave his lips, “Sorry, I didn't mean to—”

“I don’t consider myself as tall,” Jaehyun teases, glancing down at Taeyong, “Perhaps compared to you, I am.”

Flushing furiously, Taeyong uses his sweater-covered hands to protect his reddening cheeks from being visibly seen by the lawyer. And he argues in his mind instead of out loud.

He’s not short, Taeyong supposes, Jaehyun is just too tall for his own good.

“I’ll work on it,” Jaehyun declares, gently pushing Taeyong away while he crouches down in front of the electrical box, squeezing in between the small area, “You should go water your plants, I saw a few that need special attention.”

Taeyong knows he’s only teasing, but he can’t help it when his ears warm up from embarrassment, figure hurrying off to grab a water canister from the storage room. He uses the time in private to calm himself, irritated by the way his heart leaps at every smile that Jaehyun offers, and every single lingering touch that the lawyer initiates. 

He’s too old to be acting like a lovesick high schooler. A full twenty-seven years old and he still manages to swoon over his crush. 

Perhaps he’s too old to have a crush, too.

Taeyong shakes his head furiously, internally screaming at himself to get a grip. After all, he has a soulmate, and he knows that the name written over his collarbone is not Jung Jaehyun. 

The florist bends down, searching through the pile of fertilizer for his watering can. His search doesn’t continue for long when the lights start flickering, life lasting only for a few more seconds before it shuts down completely, leaving Taeyong in the darkness. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the florist hisses, tripping over a few bags of soil as he tries to meander his way out of the storage room in the pitch black darkness.   
And although he’s successful in getting out, Taeyong doesn’t feel very victorious when the fuse he has been trying to fix just blew. 

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Taeyong chides, trying his best not to explode at the lawyer. He doesn’t want to sound as mean as he does, but the pent up frustration and exhaustion that exudes from his figure keeps him from being as nice as possible. 

Jaehyun, from what he can see, has his hands clasped over his nape, head still held high. “I’m going to be honest,” he starts, voice careful and hesitant, “I’ve never fixed a fuse before.”

And Taeyong wants to laugh, perhaps even hit Jaehyun across the back, but he knows well that he shouldn’t act out. So the florist inhales a deep breath, controlled and patient, “Okay, that’s okay,” he assures, trying to convince himself the same thing, “Where are the pliers?”

Jaehyun searches around the countertop with his hand. He grasps on to the object, pointing it towards Taeyong. It’s endearing, Taeyong thinks, the way that Jaehyun looks like a kicked puppy is something he only recalls from his high school days. Never in his life would he imagine to see the sight again. 

Brushing his thoughts past himself, Taeyong takes the pliers gently from the younger man’s hand, pushing past Jaehyun, and crouching down next to the fuse box. 

“How about you help me water the plants?” Taeyong offers, eyes focused on the wires that are wrapped up around his fingers, “And while you do that, there’s a flashlight in the storage room. Bring that to me, too.”

Jaehyun mutters a soft ‘ok’ and rushes out towards the storage room in a haste. 

Taeyong feels bad, knowing that he shouldn’t order Jaehyun around like he does to Yuta, and perhaps he shouldn’t do that to Yuta either, but the lawyer is of a different relation. 

Seven years in law school and now a fresh face in society, Jaehyun still managed to make a name for himself, becoming successful in only a year. 

And Taeyong, who is labeled a high school dropout and has no college education, has been running his flower shop for eight years with no sign of even reaching the same status as Jaehyun.

He wants to be disappointed, perhaps a little jealous, but he can’t find anything in himself to think that way. 

He’s just happy for him.

For Jaehyun.

“Taeyong?” 

Startled, Taeyong knocks his head against the countertop, enduring the searing pain that starts spreading across his forehead. The florist hisses, trying to rub away the pain.

“Geez,” the lawyer chides, shining a flashlight down upon the older male, “You okay?”

Taeyong resists the urge to whine out a simple ‘no’ as he would do with Yuta and Ten, but Jaehyun is different. Jaehyun won’t tease or baby him, regardless. So, the florist nods his head, sucking it up. 

“Thanks for the light,” he says simply, taking the object from Jaehyun. 

It takes him only a few seconds of struggling to realize that he can’t hold the flashlight in one hand and work with the other. And unfortunately for Taeyong, Jaehyun seems to realize this too.

“Here, let me hold it,” the lawyer brushes against the tips of Taeyong’s fingers as he reaches for the flashlight, carefully taking it from the florist’s hand. “Just tell me where you need it.”

And the florist hates how his heart rate picks up once Jaehyun fully squeezes himself against Taeyong, struggling to get a better access to the electrical fuse box. 

“More to the left,” Taeyong orders, voice soft and considerate. And Jaehyun obliges without cracking a single word, calmly helping the florist out just by following his every order. 

Taeyong snips the wire, holding his breath as if he was defusing a bomb. The lights flicker for a bit before returning, shining on the area like it was brand new. 

The lawyer gapes in awe, intrigued by the older man’s skills. “You fixed it,” he states, eyes ogling the now lit bulbs across the shop, “That’s kind of incredible.”

Taeyong lets out a laugh, not holding back from expressing his joy, “It’s just basic human functions.”

“Huh, then I guess I’m not a basic human,” Jaehyun retorts, grinning at the florist. 

Taeyong doesn’t know how, but at the sight of the lawyer’s dimples face, he feels his knees buckle up, losing its own strength. 

“No,” he softly says, looking back down at his shoes, “Guess you’re not.”

Jaehyun laughs softly, standing closer to Taeyong. He’s careful with his steps, taking them slow and steady. The florist tended up, feeling Jaehyun’s finger tilting his chin up. 

“Stop looking at your shoes,” Jaehyun chides, talking to Taeyong with the softest voice he can manage. “You look better when you’re looking at me.”

Taeyong swears, he can die right then and there. 

“I actually had other intentions than just...ruining your lighting,” Jaehyun starts, amused with how he’s executed his own plan, “I wanted to ask you to have lunch with me?”

“What?” Taeyong blinks, unbelieving of what had just spewed from Jaehyun’s lips. 

“Please? It would mean a lot to me if you agreed.”

And there’s the puppy eyes that he’s gotten so familiar with, taking him back to when Jaehyun was younger, more naïve, and actually remembered him. Of course they’ve only met once, through the lot of Taeyong’s friends being interconnected with Jaehyun’s, but he can’t help but be disappointed by the amount of unfamiliarity that Jaehyun looks at him with.

Still, he can’t say no, “Of course,” Taeyong breathes out, “Yeah, sure, why not?”

Taeyong doesn’t really regret saying yes to Jaehyun’s lunch proposal.

It’s a quaint restaurant, with soft ambient lighting to create a warm atmosphere, welcoming incoming guests and customers alike. It’s expensive, Taeyong begins to realize when the waiters come out dressed in white button downs and a dark vest, handing them gold-lined menus. The prices were the worst part.

What he would have gotten at Ten’s cafe for a third of the price, cost half a month’s worth on his apartment rent, and there is no way that Taeyong can think of to pay for the food. And Jaehyun seems to realize the florist’s tensed up shoulders, wide eyes, and chewed on lip. 

He quickly shoots a hand up, not letting Taeyong finish wallowing in his own worries and spews out orders like he’s a regular. His words seem carefully memorized, cautiously rehearsed. Once he’s finished, Jaehyun turns towards Taeyong, a gentle smile painted over his lips.

“What drink would you like?”

Taeyong takes a glance back at his menu, heart cracking into bits when his eyes reach the prices. It’s okay, he tells himself, Jaehyun broke his fuse anyways. 

“Hibiscus tea,” he orders, pleasantly smiling back at the waiter, “Thank you.”

The waiter, who seems to have had his attention trained on Taeyong the whole entire time, only realizes that Jaehyun is talking to him, offering to put the payment on his tab. 

“Excuse me,” Jaehyun sneers, tapping the man on the arm, “Please put the costs on my tab.”

Flushing from embarrassment, the man smiles, taking the menus away with a red tinge on his ears. “Of course.”

Jaehyun shakes his head in annoyance, but he tries his best to put on a smile before looking back at Taeyong, who seems preoccupied by the scenery outside, and too naive to realize that the waiter had an interest in him. 

How is Jaehyun supposed to date someone like him?

In the midst of his thinking, Taeyong turns back to him, “How has your firm been doing?” 

Surprised by the sudden question, Jaehyun blinks once, twice, trying to figure out what to say. 

It’s not doing well, he wants to say, and it’s hard for him to get to work without a crowd of reporters storming over him in a mini stampede. The policemen visit every now and then, interviewing employee by employee, having yet to reach Jaehyun on their list of names.

But he’s worried that one day they will, when they figure out that the murder weapon is inside the law firm, sitting innocently on Doyoung’s desk. Or he’s scared, terrified of the fact that Lucas might spill, despite promising Doyoung his silence, and from there, Jaehyun is revoked of his lawyer’s title, everything will be taken away from him.

Despite this, Jaehyun doesn’t want to say a word to Taeyong. Letting the older male in on his personal life is something he isn’t delighted to do. And if he’s going to be honest, he’s annoyed that Taeyong asked him in the first place.

“It’s been okay,” he quickly dismisses, staring right into Taeyong’s eyes. Jaehyun’s brown orbs flare with power, authority, trying to make the florist back down from asking any further questions. It’s worked with others with more social power than him before, and so he’s positive that Taeyong isn’t going to stand up against him.

And he’s right, because Taeyong’s gaze cowers away only milliseconds after Jaehyun looks at him, lips tightening into a thin line, pursed against each other to keep himself from speaking any other words.

Jaehyun inwardly laughs, feeling his pride take over his mindset. 

Too bad he still has to be nice to Taeyong.

“What about your flower shop?” The lawyer inquiries, changing the topic, “Excluding the fact that your lights weren’t working as you’d like, of course.”

“Business is going well. A lot of your coworkers come over,” he states, fiddling with his fingers under the table, “Sometimes they come with gifts, which is nice of them.”

Gifts?

Jaehyun glowers at the fact, “Gifts, you say?”

“Nothing big,” Taeyong explains, a little frantic, “They’re sometimes fruits, or cute decorative things I can put around the store.”

He can’t even fathom the fact that his employees are capable of giving gifts. He’s never received one, himself, but perhaps he should be nicer to his coworkers to experience the same thing. 

All he knows is that Doyoung is right, Taeyong is well loved by the public, and as much as he hated the thought, dating him will be a one way ticket to bury the murder under wraps.

And this makes Jaehyun bold, desperate even, because without thinking to much about his actions, the lawyer reaches his hand over, taking Taeyong’s hand into his in a loving manner.

With wide eyes, Taeyong stares back at him, seemingly shocked to the core. Jaehyun inhales, preparing his mind for the words he’s about to spew. 

“I would give you gifts too,” he replies tenderly, eyes glazed with faux love and admiration, “So give me a chance to do so and go out with me?”

Taeyong chokes on air, eyes wandering frantically around the restaurant as if he was looking for someone to get him out of the situation, and Jaehyun is quite amused. The sight is endearing, if Jaehyun had to admit it truthfully. 

And Taeyong is debating with himself, free hand coming up to protect his soulmate mark, even though it is safely covered up by the sweater he’s wearing. Of course, he’s been wishing for this moment ever since he was a junior in high school, always daydreaming about it on his free time.

But now that he’s older, his hopes and wishes to find his true soulmate has grown bigger, stronger than before, despite telling himself that he shouldn’t believe in such things. 

However, he still truly did like Jaehyun, more than he expected to.

“I don’t know,” he replies softly, pulling his hand out of Jaehyun’s tight grasp. “I’m really sorry, but I’m just not sure if I’m willing to be with someone who isn’t my soulmate.”

Jaehyun is agape, feeling the true pain of rejection, his very first rejection. It’s a weird feeling, being denied of something or someone, and the lawyer concludes that he doesn’t very much like it.

But he can’t just push himself on to the florist, knowing his own boundaries. Jaehyun doesn’t want to repeat his clients’ mistake. But by now, with the cameras in his face, the allegations made against his law firm, and the constant fear and paranoia, Jaehyun is just so fucking desperate to fix it.

“Give me a month,” he declares, “A month to prove to you that you don’t need to be with your soulmate to experience true love. Trust me.”

Taeyong sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair, ruffling the red strands up in a disorderly fashion. He can’t deny it, the florist wants this, too. But the guilt just eats him out alive. On the other hand, rejecting Jaehyun is going to leave a scar on his heart, too, regardless. 

Who is he to deny someone of their happiness?

“Okay,” he agrees, breathless from debating with himself, “One month. Just one.”

Jaehyun grins, showing his pearl teeth in an ecstatic smile, revealing his dimples with gleaming eyes, “I’ll make it the best month of your life.”

And lunch goes well after that, with small talk being spoken here and there, discussing different topics with soft laughter and beaming smiles. 

Taeyong is satisfied with his decisions, although he does regret that this, whatever this actually is, can only last for one month. He doesn’t dwell on his worries much, taking a sip of his hibiscus tea to calm himself down.

“You and Doyoung are really alike,” Jaehyun quips, taking a bite of his food, “You two seem to really like hibiscus tea, huh?”

The florist halts his actions, placing the cup back onto the table. He gulps nervously, eyes focusing back on his food. “Right,” Taeyong chirps cautiously, giving Jaehyun a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow, intrigued by Taeyong’s reaction. He’s not a lawyer for no reason; reading a person’s body language is considerably the easiest part of his job. And the more that Jaehyun discusses it, the more uncomfortable Taeyong looks. 

He’s hit a nerve.

With a smirk, Jaehyun takes one last bite of his food, thinking of ways to gauge Taeyong’s reaction. 

“What happened between you two, anyways?” He questions, leaving his chopsticks resting on his plate. “Doyoung told me that you two used to be friends.”

His curiosity is killing him.

“Nothing important,” he quips, licking his dry lips, “Just a silly disagreement.”

“A silly disagreement that broke you two up?”

Taeyong’s eyes flare up, burning fire swirls inside the deep brown chocolate orbs, challenging and defensive at the same time. Jaehyun simpers.

Bingo.

“It’s a different thing for everyone,” Jaehyun quickly says, not wanting to play with Taeyong any longer. He’s already gotten what he wanted anyways. “Don’t worry about it, hmm? I’ll take you back to your shop, how about that?”

“No,” Taeyong breathes out, tone laced with mild irritation, “I’ll be good just walking back, it’s not too far from here anyways.”

“Whatever you say,” Jaehyun replies, not wanting to push Taeyong any further than he has, “Be safe on your way back.”

Taeyong smiles, it’s sweet and assuring, and Jaehyun figures he should pull one last act to secure the bag; he leans in, leaving a soft peck on Taeyong’s cheekbone, surprised by the subtle yet alluring smell of roses. 

“One month,” Jaehyun reminds, a playful smile playing on his lips, “I only have one month to do these things. I’m just taking my chances.”

The older male looks back at him with wide eyes, endearingly flushed cheeks, and a stifled smile on his face, and Jaehyun is lying if he didn’t find the sight completely captivating. 

Without saying another word, Jaehyun leaves the restaurant first, leaving a flustered Taeyong standing petrified in the middle of the establishment.

The lawyer inhales a breath of fresh air once he gets outside, stuffing his hands into his jean’s pockets. He takes quick steps across the street, head downturned to be hidden from public view. 

Jaehyun enters a vacant shop across from the restaurant, eyes grazing over the room to catch a hooded figure, fiddling with a professional camera.

Smirking, the lawyer approaches the man, throwing a hand on his shoulder, “How did it come out?”

The male turns around, a hesitant grimace on his face. It’s a reluctant expression, apprehensive and shameful, it makes Jaehyun rethink all the opportunities he’s given him, “Why don’t you see for yourself.”

He hands the lawyer his camera, letting him scroll through the photos taken, and slowly, a different type of smile blooms on Jaehyun’s face. It’s even more terrifying than the first, with the way his eyes glower with a malicious sense of satisfaction. 

“I look pretty good in these pictures,” Jaehyun jokes, constantly pressing the button to view the hundreds of photographs the taller man managed to take. There’s plenty, pictures of him and Taeyong laughing together, ones that capture the moment of Jaehyun's goodbye peck. 

It’s perfect for the public. 

“You look really good with him,” he sighs, frowning, “It’s too bad that you’re just using him.”

“Of course,” Jaehyun laughs, handing him back the camera, “Make sure to send those to the biggest news stations and journalists. You’re really the best, Lucas.”

The man—Lucas, turns towards Jaehyun, acknowledging the lawyer’s compliment. It’s rare for Jaehyun to show his appreciation for his coworkers, much less his firm’s security guard. The action takes Lucas by surprise, but he smiles nonetheless. 

“Remember,” Jaehyun reminds, voice stern, “We’re going to use this to help cover up the news about the murder. This will get you and Doyoung some time to escape the press.”

“You’re really gracious, Lawyer Jung.”

“You might want to think back on that comment one day.”

By the end of the day, Taeyong ends back up in Ten’s coffee shop, taste buds craving for the Thai man’s sweet pastries and classic hibiscus tea, which has the right amount of sugar that the florist craves for. 

The young male sits at one of the corner couches in the café after closing time, animatedly chirping with Haechan and Jaemin, who both have neglected their jobs to accompany the florist. 

Ten comes out later, a tray of strawberry macarons stacked up upon each other, enough to feed a whole apartment complex worth of people. Taeyong’s eyes brighten at the sight, mouth salivating from his own uncontrollable cravings. 

“Didn’t I tell you two to finish cleaning up before you annoy my friend?” Ten singly glaring at the two college students with lenient eyes.

Jaemin mocks the way Ten speaks, obnoxiously mouthing his boss’s way of talking, and Taeyong couldn’t help but giggle at the image. Haechan joins in soon enough, causing Ten to toss a pillow at the two. 

The group of males erupt in bellowing laughter, throwing themselves back against the cushions, struggling to control their howling laughter. 

“I can’t stand you guys,” Ten complains in the midst of his fit of giggles, leaning against Taeyong for support, “Annoying brats.”

“Hey,” Haechan defends, smiling brightly, “You’re the one that hasn’t fired us yet.”

Jaemin nods in agreement, “Working here is hard enough, though,” he states, pouting, “You see all types of weird people.”

“You mean like Lawyer Jung and that rabbit guy?” Haechan chimes in, accusing.

Taeyong’s ears perk up at the mention of Jaehyun, eyebrows quirking up in confusion, “He’s been here before?”

“Yeah,” Haechan answers, taking a bite of the macaron, “Two times, actually.”

“They were talking about something the other day,” Jaemin recalls, and Haechan screeches, exclaiming that he hasn’t heard the information from the younger male yet, to which Jaemin pats the other’s shoulder, calming him down, “They said something about a man being happy to see his dead mother again.”

Taeyong nods, “They must be talking about some case.”

“Jaehyun must be having a hard time,” Ten speaks, sympathizing, “His firm is caught in a murder.”

“Really?” Taeyong exclaims, surprised by what he’s hearing, “He didn’t say anything about it to me when we were eating lunch.”

“You two were eating lunch together?” Haechan chimes in, shocked to the core of his spine. 

Taeyong rolls his eyes, tossing a mint leaf towards the younger male, “Something like that, yeah. And he kind of...uhh, asked me out?”

Ten squeals in a high pitched tone, draping his body over the older male, squeezing him in a tight hug. “You said yes, I know you did.”

“Actually—”

“I don’t like him,” Haechan sneers, followed by a nod from Jaemin whose mouth is too stuffed with pastries to speak, “There’s something weird about him and his friend.”

Ten leans back, pondering over the younger boy’s words, “As much as I hate to say it, but Haechan is right. If you think about it, he’s always with Doyoung, and we already know what he’s like.”

Jaemin and Haechan squint their eyes, curiously looking at the Thai male for an explanation, “No, we don’t know.”

“It’s a long story,” Taeyong dismisses, boredly picking at the red scuffs on the macaron in his hand.

Jaemin seems more intrigued than before, leaning in with wide eyes, “We have time. Tomorrow’s a weekend anyways, Haechan and I don’t have classes.”

Ten casts a wary look towards Taeyong, apprehensive of the situation. But the florist is stern, finality is something that he’s used to. 

“We dated,” Taeyong concludes smoothly, curt and dismissive, “Five years ago or something.”

Haechan’s jaw unhinges from each other, leaving the boy’s mouth agape and surprised, “You and him,” he begins slowly, aghast, “You two dated?”

Jaemin, however, doesn’t seem too surprised by the news. He sits unphased, continuously chewing. 

“Yeah,” Taeyong confirms, “We broke up after a year or so, maybe?”

“Why?”

The florist blinks at Jaemin, lips pursing into a thin line, “I told him that I just couldn’t do it anymore.” 

His voice is undeniably soft. Fear and hesitation mixing in to one. 

Haechan quirks an eyebrow, picking up the information quite quickly, “Because you still had feelings for Jaehyun?”

“Yeah.” He’s ashamed, perhaps more than usual now that he has two pairs of innocent eyes staring at him, imploring into his words. “There’s more to it than just that, but that’s basically why we didn’t work out. I feel bad about it, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Jaemin squirms in his seat, reminded of the day before when he overheard Jaehyun and Doyoung’s sweet conversation. He debates with himself, whether or not he should tell Taeyong when his relationship with Jaehyun has just begun. 

But perhaps the lawyer called quits with the secretary before binding together with Taeyong. Either way, Jaemin decides to keep his mouth shut.

Instead, he beams at Taeyong, giving the older male the brightest smile he can muster.

“Don’t worry, Taeyong, there’s nothing to feel bad about. That’s how love works, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one secret is revealed... a few more to go :)


	6. to compare a star to the sun

When asked about his career, Jaehyun never fails to mention his success. He’s been in the business for approximately two years, if not less, but unlike other lawyers who still struggle to rise up in their firm, Jaehyun is blessed with authority and a history of prestige. 

Though, rather disappointingly, he owes much of this to his father. Jaehyun’s only a successor, a shadow behind his father’s reputable history as a lawyer.

Even more notably, he’s the golden son of his father’s second wife. 

The replacement whore’s son.

The title stuck to him like a parasite, and did him little to no good in his early years of life. But his father loved him, saw him as a trophy son and pushed him to be as successful as he is. And once college hit, Jaehyun began his rise to stardom. 

And maybe that’s why Jaehyun, a master of manipulation and cold iron words, is considerably obedient when it comes to what his father wishes. 

“Hyun?”

Jaehyun shakes his head, dismissing his train of thoughts before looking up at his father. The old man sits behind his desk, wary eyes trained on the screen of his computer. He undergoes a few stages of shock, and suddenly mild relief. 

The lawyer’s lips twitch at the sight, an eyebrow quirking upwards in confusion. “What’s gotten you so troubled?”

His father grunts, leaning back into his chair. The man tears his gaze away from the screen, placing a stern glare towards Jaehyun. “You can’t stop having your name on the front page, can you?”

Jaehyun resists a smile. “What?” He questions innocently, faux confusion answers him in echoes, “Are you talking about the murder? Because I can assure you that our firm is completely innocent.”

“No,” his father sighs, exasperated by Jaehyun’s cluelessness, “I’m talking about you and Taeyong. Your pictures are all over the internet.”

Jaehyun blinks, clearing his throat, “Ah, that.”

“The boy has a soulmate, doesn’t he?” The man inquiries, a point of accusation that makes Jaehyun stumble amongst his thoughts. “He’s okay with this?”

“He’s giving me a month,” the lawyer states, hands held behind his back. Jaehyun takes a few steps towards the armchair that situates behind him, throwing his body on to the object.

His father makes a noise of disdain, head shaking in disapproval, “A month for what?”

“To make him fall for me.”

Shocked at the sudden bluntness, Jaehyun’s father lets out a boisterous laugh, deep and booming with amusement. The lawyer rolls his eyes, running a finger through his gelled hair. 

“Son,” the man begins, struggling between breaths of laughter, “Don’t make your life into a soap opera. Where did you even learn how to flirt like this?”

Jaehyun glares bullets into the man’s face, although his gaze remains unthreatening, perhaps even albeit playful, “If you must know, this is your son’s first relationship.”

“Ah, and I thought you would’ve learned from me,” his father teases, lips curving into a bright grin. Upon seeing Jaehyun’s disturbed features, another laugh tumbles through the office, causing the lawyer to deepen his frown.

A moment passes by, and Jaehyun’s father finally regains his composure, wiping a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye, “I like Taeyong,” he begins, sincere and assuring, “I always knew you’d like him too.”

“What?”

There’s a knowing glint that flashes past the man’s brown eyes, and from what Jaehyun can tell, his father knows more than he does. 

And maybe Jaehyun’s just hallucinating, but even through all that happiness, formed by the curve of his father’s lips and the twinkle in his eyes when he speaks of Jaehyun and Taeyong, there’s a subtle sadness. 

Guilt? Regret?

Jaehyun doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to seem crazy either. Instead, he brushes the thought away with a click of his tongue.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” the old man brushes off, vague and brief, “You two just look good together, that’s all.”

Jaehyun’s lips twist, a hint of suspicion is notable on his features, “You and Johnny both talk in code, I see.”

“Speaking of Johnny,” his father starts, pushing himself out of the chair. He takes a few unbalanced steps towards Jaehyun, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder, “I’ll be needing you to pick him up from the airport.”

Shock and disbelief are the only two emotions Jaehyun can feel, although there’s a mild amount of happiness that swirls inside his stomach. Jaehyun’s swarmed by nostalgia and perhaps even a hit of ecstasy, and all of that is reinforced by the beaming smile on his father’s face.

“He’s coming home today?”

“I knew you missed him,” his father chuckles, catching the child-like gleam in the midst of Jaehyun’s dark orbs. “He called me yesterday, told me to keep it a secret from you, but I have a meeting to attend and no one else is able to pick him up except you.”

“I didn’t miss him,” Jaehyun denies. He’ll be damned if Johnny ever finds out that the younger has been counting the days to see his step-brother again. 

The older man makes a noise of acknowledgement, but wordlessly dismisses Jaehyun’s dubious comment, “Take Mark with you if you’d like, Johnny probably misses him too.”

“That’s quite the request,” Jaehyun grimaces, internally groaning at the thought. 

His father is at the edge of his laughter, eyes crinkling in the corners in sheer happiness, “Ah, and if you will, take Taeyong here. Your mother wants to have dinner with all of us together. Bring Secretary Kim.”

It’s suspicious, but Jaehyun doesn’t utter a word about it, afraid that his true intentions are to show if he voices his own opinion and feelings. 

And even though he’s acting quite reluctant with the thought, Jaehyun makes a drive to Mark’s apartment as soon as he leaves the house. 

Johnny Seo, a notorious divorce lawyer known for his swift charm and compassionate lenience. 

He’s nothing like Jaehyun.

He doesn’t bear the last name of Jung—being willingly stripped of it as soon as his mother had been replaced, and had it legally changed in her remembrance at the age of eighteen, a few years after she had passed away. 

It’s a surprise that he holds no grudge against Jaehyun, although perhaps all that anger has been only fueled towards the younger man’s mother. Or maybe he’s never had anything against either of them in the first place, defined by his kind smiles and polite manners whenever he’s around the house.

If he does hate either of them, it’s possibly hidden under the thick skin and carefree nature that he wears so often, like a badge of his character.

Jaehyun’s always admired Johnny, as much as he likes to deny it, most in their family knows it’s true. 

Jung Jaehyun is successful, even more so than Johnny is—as he found out only a few months ago when he learned of the real reason Johnny had moved to the states. 

But success doesn’t bring happiness. 

Johnny, in Jaehyun’s eyes, is just so happy. 

So content with his life and not asking for more.

He’s always been happy, Jaehyun recalls, mind wandering to the times of their childhood when Johnny would share everything with Jaehyun with a smile on his face, chiming laughter, and words of reassurance that it’s all okay. 

The lawyer recollects the time when an eleven year old Jaehyun burst through the doors of their house, tears stained in a river on his cheeks, mouth babbling uncontrollably of the words that he had been told.

A replacement son, a gold digger’s mistake.

And Johnny, who was still adjusting to the life of having a younger brother and a new brother, was the first at his side, putting up with his choked words and ugly sobbing. 

He had let Jaehyun play on his computer for the rest of the day, occasionally ruffling a hand through the younger boy’s hair. 

Johnny is the epitome of kindness and Jaehyun is nothing like Johnny.

He was, perhaps when he was younger and more naive. He was kind too, although less of a saint that Johnny is.

Jaehyun wonders what had changed.

“—and Chicago is different from how I remembered it.”

The lawyer blinks, eyebrows furrowing into a knot as he tries to recall the words that had spilled from Johnny’s lips. He’s a little lost, probably more so due to the fact that he had been lost in his own thoughts. 

Johnny rolls his eyes, following Jaehyun into the coffee shop with Mark trailing after the two. “You still never pay attention when I talk, huh?”

The younger of the two scoffs, quickly dismissing the waiter that greets them at the doorway. He recognizes the boy; the one with the horrendous blue tuff in the midst of his blonde hair. 

“Some people change,” Jaehyun chides, taking a seat at the closest empty table he can find, “But I don’t.”

Mark, who hasn’t said a word ever since the two had gotten out of the car to make their trip to the café, shakes his head in exasperation. 

“Well you obviously did,” he comments, taking a glance at the menu, “He even has a boyfriend now, John.”

“Little Jaehyunie has a—”

“Oh, it’s you again,” a familiar voice interrupts, deadpanning over the atmosphere. 

Mark sinks a little in his seat, eyes refusing to leave the table surface. Taking in his appearance, Jaehyun’s eyebrow quirks in amusement. And as expected, as soon as he turns around, he’s greeted with a dry expression on a face he knows a little too well.

“And you,” the waiter points an accusing finger at Jaehyun, “Don’t tell me you’re a regular here now.”

“I don’t see the problem with it,” the lawyer challenges, unphased by how passive aggressive Haechan is acting. “Two cups of ristretto and one caffe crema for Mark over here.”

Haechan glares at the man, reluctantly pulling out the notepad from his apron’s pocket. He jots down the orders with harsh motions, obviously agitated by Jaehyun’s brief-cut nature. Before turning around, Haechan’s eyes finally catch onto the unfamiliar figure that sits next to the intern, and from what Jaehyun can tell, he’s not quite happy by Johnny’s presence. 

“You’re a lawyer too, aren’t you?” Haechan scoffs, and Johnny only blinks in return, shooting a look that cries for help towards his younger brother. The student spins on his heel, facing back towards Jaehyun with accusing eyes, “I’m going to tell you this for the first and last time: don’t bring any of your croons back here again.”

Johnny, who hasn’t been able to get a word into the conversation, lets out a breath he’s been holding, eyes wide with concern, “Is there a problem I’m not familiar with?”

“Oh, there’s definitely a problem,” Haechan chides, voice sharp and strict, “Especially with your friend over here. What type of lawyer are you? The same as he is? One that lets criminals go and mocks the victims?”

Opening and closing his mouth is all Johnny can do, and Jaehyun is quite amused by the sight. But of course, unlike Jaehyun, Johnny is soft-hearted by nature, and instead of a snarky comment to remark with, the divorce lawyer settles with a smile. It’s not professional, and Jaehyun would never smile in such a way himself, but it’s full of understanding—sincere even.

“I’m a divorce lawyer,” Johnny quirks happily, undisturbed by Haechan’s fiery gaze, “I can assure you, not all lawyers are like you describe.”

Expecting Haechan to calm down, Jaehyun’s possibly surprised by the loud scoff that erupts from the younger’s lips, dripping with exasperation and sarcasm, “A divorce lawyer, huh? So you ruin a family for a job.”

“There’s more to divorce than that,” Johnny softly says, patiently explaining his side, “There’s always a reason for—”

Mark clears his throat, placing a hand on the table. And as if he’s gathered enough courage to face the other male who has been causing such a ruckus, the intern picks his head up, staring right back at Haechan. His gaze is terrified, a lot more like a newborn lion cub than Jaehyun’s tiger-like exterior. 

“I already told you I’m sorry for what happened two months ago,” he states, desperation lacing his tone, “Can you not cause such a scene?”

Haechan raises an eyebrow, lips twisting into a tight line, “You told Taeyong that you were sorry. I’d like to hear it directly from you.”

Jaehyun sighs, leaning back on to his chair, legs crossed and arms resting lazily over his chest. Johnny, on the other hand, has his attention on the accused intern, eyes wide and filled with worry. He ogles the two as if they were a completely different species, a strong contrast to Jaehyun’s indifferent nature. 

“I’m truly sorry,” Mark apologizes sincerely, “Really, I was drunk and a light-weight.”

“Is that all?”

“And I’m sorry for keeping you guys up all night. I heard from Taeyong that you missed class,” the intern finishes, cheeks flushing a bright red. Jaehyun shakes his head, a silent snort escaping his lips. 

The waiter pauses, stuck in a moment of ponder, “That sounds better,” he gushes, a tight smile reappearing on his lips. Jaehyun can tell it’s not sincere, but perhaps the waiter is just being polite after causing such a scene. “Don’t blame me if you get sick after drinking what I make.”

And the lawyer expects it, the way Johnny makes a violent turn towards Mark with double-sized eyes as soon as Haechan waltzes away, leaving the three to their own privacy. Still, the sudden movement startles him only slightly.

“What did you do?”

Mark huffs, burying his head into the knot that is his arms, “I didn’t do anything,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the protection of his arms.

Jaehyun grunts disapprovingly, leaning his body forward on the table, “He caused a mess back in February, on my birthday no less. Came in here all drunk and demanded a drink without a wallet.” The lawyer runs a hand through his hair, the frustration coming back to him, “If he didn’t have such a baby face then he wouldn’t have been booked for underaged drinking either, and I had to bail him out. On my fucking birthday.”

“Oh,” Johnny responds dryly, a creeping flush of red dominates his cheeks, “So that’s what you did.”

Jaehyun squints, suspicious of the colored cheeks that adorns his older brother, “Why are you so red?”

At this, Mark picks his head up, showing his matching crimson face, red all the way down to his neck. “It sounded a lot like what I’m thinking it sounded like right?”

The oldest of the men nod wordlessly, mouth slightly agape. 

Jaehyun regards the both of them, and as if he finally catches on to what they’re saying, his face contorts in mild disgust. “Get your heads out of the gutter.”

“Right,” Johnny grumbles out, still considerably embarrassed by his thoughts. “We were talking about your lover?”

Ticking, Jaehyun turns his head away from the two pairs of expectant eyes that stare right back at him, honey orbs dripping with curiosity. 

He expects Johnny to be smarter than this, he’s known Jaehyun ever since the younger’s birth. Never once has he introduced a simple fling to his parents nor his friends; he has a reputation that perceived him, and Johnny knew of this well.

He knew of Jaehyun’s on and off dating in high school, although others thought it was pure friendship—Johnny saw through it all. 

Johnny thinks he’s changed. 

“He’s nice,” Mark supplies in place of Jaehyun, who is ultimately tongue-tied in the shortest of ways, and the intern is smart enough to understand, “Has a little flower shop and everything.”

The divorce lawyer beams at the information, leaning forward towards Jaehyun. “That’s adorable,” he coos, not a single tease in his words, “You know, I always thought Jaehyun would go for more prestigious people—homme fatale esque if you will.”

“Oh, but he is,” Mark gapes, eyes wide with wonder as he recalls what Taeyong had looked like upon first meeting, “Jaehyun has good eyes for handsome guys. You should’ve seen him at the firm’s banquet.”

Jaehyun sends a stern glare towards Mark, and the younger male willingly tightens his lips, eyes downcasted towards the table surface, ogling it as if it was the most interesting thing in the entire world.

Johnny, however, doesn’t let the topic live down.

“Even your coworkers know about him, huh?” The man teases, eyebrows wiggling comically, “Are you going to marry him then?”

Marriage?

Jaehyun cringes at the thought. He’s never thought about it before, not even with Doyoung who is considerably only another fling, up until he murdered someone, of course. To marry Taeyong, no less. 

But the lawyer takes a moment to consider it sincerely. 

Lee Taeyong is everything nice; humble in nature, independent and useful. He, however, lacks a sense of dignity and pride. Taeyong is bashful, shy and introverted. The florist isn’t a strong pawn that can be used to boost Jaehyun’s name.

But with the alleged murders circling his firm, Jaehyun never knew he can be so desperate. 

“Maybe,” he replies with a mutter, gaze unphased by Mark’s sudden shriek. 

Johnny raises an eyebrow at the younger man’s reply, eyes sharpening with a grave glint, “What are you—”

“Is he your soulmate?” Mark interrupts, mouth working faster than his brain can process. 

Johnny, from what Jaehyun can see, stiffens at the mention of it, smile wiped off his face completely. The color in the older’s face drains while the guilt is filling up, and Jaehyun knows, Johnny finds the situation unexplainable. 

The tension simmers into a heavy silence, eyes wandering from corner to corner of the shop in order to avoid Mark’s glimmering orbs overflowing with the desire for answers. 

Haechan stops by in between, interrupting the atmosphere with three cups, all steaming with the strong scent of coffee. He doesn’t say a word as he leaves, but the look in his eyes show that he’s still rather not fond of the three.

Johnny hums softly, voice disappearing by the end of the sound and turns towards Mark, mouth coming open and closed like a blubbering fish. But Jaehyun is much quicker, and with a casual smirk, lips twisting into a professional curve, he quickly dismisses the topic. 

“I don’t have a soulmate.”

The words leave his mouth swiftly, in a nonchalant sense that would’ve been viewed as careless, but even with the gentle smile that he tags along with the ends of his statement, Mark’s face still contort with shock, perhaps disbelief. 

“You,” he starts, blinking rapidly as if he is still trying to comprehend what he just heard from his superior, “You don’t have a soulmate? I’ve known you for three years and you never told me?”

Jaehyun chuckles, warm and sincere, endeared by Mark’s amazement, “Hey, I’ve known Johnny for more than twenty years, but I still don’t know whose name he has on his body.”

The American man shakes his head in amusement, taking a sip of his drink, “Reminds me, what’s lover boy’s name?”

“Lee Taeyong,” Jaehyun chokes out, careful not to trip over the florist’s name that even Mark knows better than him. 

Johnny coughs through the middle of his sip, choking on the scalding liquid that rushes down his throat. And Jaehyun wonders, what about that name pushed such a reaction out of him?

In the midst of Mark’s panic, Jaehyun remains eerily calm, observing every move that Johnny makes. He notices it all; the way his hands shake when grabbing the napkin out of the intern’s hand, the way he doesn’t dare to make eye contact with either of the two as he excuses himself into the bathroom.

Jaehyun isn’t dumb. 

And with newly found information, he tosses his car keys towards the younger man, “Drive Johnny home if you will, I just remembered I have something to do.”

The drive to Doyoung’s flat doesn’t take long. Jaehyun’s familiar with the address, located near the edge of Myeong-dong. Although, he does regret relying on a taxi after giving Mark full possession of his car. 

Doyoung’s apartment complex isn’t extravagant, there’s no need for full-time security and permissive entrance. But nonetheless, Jaehyun finds it cosy, with the neighbors gushing over his looks and congratulating him for a successful relationship. 

And as polite as he tried to be, a sound of distaste happens to erupt from the back of his throat after the tenth person stops him outside of the elevator, all smiles and animated hands, congratulating him for scoring such a beautiful boyfriend.

The woman holds up the newspaper, revealing a picture of Jaehyun and Taeyong cuddling close to each other as they walked down the street towards the restaurant, and a bigger picture, enlarged and circled, a picture of Jaehyun leaving a loving kiss on the florist’s cheek. 

He clears his throat, awkwardly thanking the person, although in the back of his mind, there is nothing to be happy about. 

Never has he been so embarrassed by a relationship.

Thankfully, the rest of the walk to Doyoung’s goes fairly swell without interruptions and he’s engulfed the older man into a hug as soon as the door is opened.

“What are you doing?” the secretary screeches, pulling the man inside, “Someone could’ve seen you.”

Jaehyun scoffs, throwing himself onto Doyoung’s couch, “Then they should mind their business. Isn’t it already enough that they know about me and Taeyong?”

Doyoung looks at him like an angry mother staring down her son, and Jaehyun only gets more irritated the longer it lasts. He doesn’t say a word, however, waiting with the very last ounce of patience he has for Doyoung to say something.

But nothing comes. 

“Are you mad?” He initiates, trying to pry into the answer of Doyoung’s souring mood. 

And it works, quite well, when Doyoung lets himself fall into Jaehyun’s embrace, hand caressing the younger man’s jaw, “Was the kiss really that necessary?”

“I was just trying to get him worked up,” Jaehyun explains, running a gentle hand through the older man’s raven hair, “To get him interested. You know it means nothing to me.”

“He already has enough interest in you.”

The lawyer perks up, straightening his posture, “What are you saying?”

Doyoung smiles, hands leaving the lawyer’s face, “Taeyong has loved you for a very long time,” he starts, voice soft. The glint in his eyes is anything but sinister. Instead, Jaehyun finds it to be intriguing how euphoric Doyoung looks talking about Taeyong, “Ten years.”

Jaehyun laughs, his tone cocky, “Ever since high school, huh?” He throws his head back, lips twisting with determination, “That’s a little pathetic.”

“You have the advantage—” 

“How long are we going to continue like this?” Jaehyun questions, voice gripped by exasperation, “How long do I have to act like I’m in love with him and how long are you going to make me do it, all while being jealous?”

Doyoung frowns, removing himself from Jaehyun’s grip, “Until this all dies down,” he convinces, voice softer than a whisper, “News about the murder is still everywhere. I can’t even go to the firm without being crowded by journalists.”

“And so you want all this attention to be on me,” Jaehyun summarizes, eyes dead set on Doyoung’s desperate features, “Because of my twenty-five years of living as a bachelor.”

“You know how the public eats that shit up more than they care about the law and who breaks it,” Doyoung argues, voice stern, “You know it’s true, Jaehyun. People care more about a celebrity's private life than they do their own rights.”

Jaehyun remains silent, unnervingly so. He does admit, the secretary has a point. People are filled with gossip, and not many are about the law—it’s tasteless. Headlines are overcrowded with celebrity dating scandals, picturing them out and about with their dates. 

And the fans blow the news out of proportion, causing a ruckus in the community. Even on the day Jaehyun won his first case, he had been devastatingly overshadowed by a scandal that broke out, one about two idols allegedly dating.

It was proven to be false, and yet even then, the rumors lasted for ages, burying down news of serial killers, rapists, and drug users.

And that’s how criminals operate, going unnoticed by the public who are too enamoured by a celebrity’s private life. 

“Fine,” Jaehyun sighs, defeated, “But I promised him a month.”

“You did what?”

“I told him I’ll have his heart by the end of this month,” the lawyer said explains nonchalantly, “Which is when I expect all of this to blow over. I’ll just use him well until then.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes, sitting straight up on the couch, “I doubt a month is enough,” he hisses, “The police visited the firm today and you weren’t there.”

Jaehyun doesn’t respond, unphased by the newly fed information, “Don’t worry, love.” He rests a hand on Doyoung’s thigh, soothing the stiffened muscles, “I’ve got it all calculated out. Plus, policemen are easy to convince with a few dollars.”

The secretary beams with satisfaction, body easing its way back into the lawyer’s arms, “What made you visit me today anyway?”

“My step-brother came back,” Jaehyun answers with a fond smile, euphoria painting it’s way onto his face. “I picked him up awhile ago.”

“That’s lovely, but I don’t think you’d come here just to tell me Johnny’s back.”

“My parents invited you to dinner today, I won’t be able to pick you up so be there through your own amends,” Jaehyun sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He sees Doyoung nod in the corner of his eye, a hint of disappointment shading over his features. 

“And is that it?”

The lawyer’s breath hitches, bewildered. It’s dubious, there’s a rock of thought that weighs down Jaehyun’s mind, bugging him like a parasite lodged inside his brain. So he breathes out, albeit shakily, “I know who Johnny’s soulmate is,” Jaehyun coughs out, quite pained by his own realiziations. “Fuck, I know who it is.”

Doyoung blinks, still confused by the situation. Jaehyun understands, he’s rightfully perplexed as well.

But he doesn’t understand—his father knows; knows of how Jaehyun is without a soulmate, born without a mark to call his own. He knows of Johnny’s soulmate mark, Jaehyun remembers.

He remembers the way his father would indulge in talks about soulmates at the dinner table, praising that Johnny’s soulmate had a pretty name, one made for a beautiful person with a grand heart. 

So he can’t comprehend the way his father encouraged him this morning, telling him how much he approves of it, and how happy he is for Jaehyun now that he’s settled down.

And Johnny has given Jaehyun everything, from the little things like his toys back when they were younger, all the way to his own father. 

Would Johnny be willing to give Jaehyun his soulmate too?

Taeyong should be happy that so many people are crowding around his flower shop, but he can’t bring himself to smile as the customers flood in, chirping rapidly about how lucky he is to be dating such a powerful man in society. 

Perhaps he’d be happier if they came in for his flowers and not his relationship.

Taeyong hardly thinks it’s a relationship if it only lasts for a month, but being a person with an average working filter between his brain and his lips, he doesn’t say it aloud.

Some of them bring gifts, similar to the ones Jaehyun’s coworkers bring in from time to time to appease him, but such gifts are accompanied by an endless tornado of questions and a notepad that recorded his every answer.

Taeyong isn’t stupid, either. He barely says a word, quickly dismissing them before they managed to get a piece of information out of him.

Yuta doesn’t seem to be ecstatic about it either, coming towards the florist to mumble words or disdain and crude nature in a hushed voice as soon the journalist takes their leave, mocking the look of disappointment on their face. 

But dismissing them doesn’t solve the problem either. Instead, they begin to camp outside of his flower shop, perhaps waiting for Jaehyun to come around for true confirmation.

“So that’s why you were so giddy this morning,” Yuta accuses, locking the front door, deciding to close the shop early before another reporter bursts in. 

Taeyong makes a noise of confusion, tilting his head to feign innocence, to which the Japanese man retorts with a roll of his eyes accompanied by a rather obnoxiously loud scoff.

“You’re dating Jaehyun now, huh?”

He didn't mean for it to happen, Taeyong thinks to himself, but the smile automatically blooms on to his face, brightening his features. 

The florist doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he buys time to calm the heat that traveled to his cheeks, flushing on to his face in the shade of a cherry tomato.

“It’s only for a month,” Taeyong responds, suddenly shy by the topic, “Nothing special.”

Yuta doesn’t dismiss the florist’s words, however. Instead, he continues to pry with a teasing smile engraved onto his features, “Nothing special? You’ve liked this guy for ten years and you’re saying it’s nothing special?”

“Yeah,” the florist replies stubbornly, a pout jutting it’s way out on his lips, “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“No one can have a silly crush for ten years straight. People get bored,” Yuta sighs, desperation at the very tip of expiration, “And what’s with this one month thing anyway?”

Taeyong pauses, escaping the Japanese male’s prying gaze while watering a bucket of peonies, “Well, he has one month to win me over.”

Yuta gapes, eyes wide and disbelieving, “He already won you over ten years ago!”

“Yuta—”

“Why are you being like this?”

The florist ponders for a moment, reflecting on his decisions as if his life depended on it. And honestly, Taeyong doesn’t know exactly why either. 

He’s happy of course, unbelievably so. Just thinking about the soft kiss that Jaehyun left sent butterflies to the pit of his stomach, and a violent crimson to his cheeks. Taeyong can’t control his own grin either when even the lawyer’s name is mentioned. 

He’s head over heels for the man. 

So why?

“Jaehyun isn’t my soulmate,” Taeyong explains, “And he probably has a soulmate that would love him a lot.”

“So you’re giving yourself only a month to love him?” Yuta shoots, unnerved by the older’s way of thinking, “This whole soulmate thing is only a tradition, Yong. You can love who you want. It’s not the 1900s anymore.”

“I know,” the florist huffs, snipping away at a few overgrown stems. There’s a form of aggression in his movement, a hefty hand cutting violently with scissors.

“So what are you going to do?”

Taeyong takes a moment to think. He likes Jaehyun, has been infatuated with him for the past ten years of his life. He remembers sending secretive glances at the man during the lawyer’s debate tournament, cheering when he won a medal for his topic. 

But then senior year hit, and Taeyong dropped out without a single word. Doyoung followed his footsteps, not wanting to be apart at such a lovesick age. And through guilt, he keeps the reason why he left a secret.

Now, he meets Jaehyun again, even after years, Taeyong still feels the same.

“You’ll give him a chance, right?” Yuta encourages, cutting of Taeyong’s train of thought. “You’ll give yourself a chance?”

“I’ll think—”

There’s a bang at the door, loud and demanding, echoing its way throughout the whole entire shop. Yuta turns towards the noise, shielding Taeyong from the view of what may have been a journalist. 

But through the screen door stood a familiar tall figure, dressed in a recognizable suit, as expensive as the rest of the ones he probably has.

Slowly, Taeyong can see Yuta loosen his composure, taking a few steps aside to leave the florist in the view. 

Jaehyun, swarmed by a pack of chattering journalists, presses his side into the door, his words of chatter coming through the shield of the door in torrent, muffled sounds. 

“I’m not an idol,” he chides loudly, “Leave me alone.”

As if he’s woken out of his daydream, Taeyong leaps up to unlock the door, struggling to let Jaehyun in without revealing a swarm of nosy journalists along with him. 

The lawyer huffs, combing a frustrated hand through his ruffled hair, he straightens out his unbuttoned suit, creasing away the wrinkles. 

He looks amazing, Taeyong notes, swooned by the way Jaehyun’s hair comes undone, messier than his usual combed back style that the florist sees so often. It makes him look softer, less stern and professional. It doesn’t take Taeyong long to decide that he likes it more. 

However, despite his looks, the florist can’t help but to frown at the distinct smell of alcohol. It’s a strong scent, a sharper smell than the one Taeyong remembers at the law firm’s banquet. 

“You closed up early,” Jaehyun points out, eyes trained solely on the aghast florist. Taeyong feels his heart swell under the gaze, head going dizzy from the honey that oozed from the lawyer’s warm orbs. 

Yuta clears his throat, sending Taeyong from his train of thought. The older male chokes on his own words, warmth coating his cheeks, “Yeah, right,” he says awkwardly, still racking his mind for a response.

Jaehyun chortles warmly, laying a hand on Taeyong’s hair, running his fingers through the poorly dyed crimson hair. “They must have troubled you.”

“It was alright,” the florist stutters out, ignoring Yuta’s undignified snort that mocks him for his stiff behavior, “Why are you here? Isn’t your firm in trouble?”

There’s a distinct look of disdain that clouds Jaehyun’s eyes, Taeyong notices, and the guilt of his own curiosity hits him only a millisecond later. It doesn’t last long and is diminished fully when the lawyer grins, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his pants.

“Don’t worry about my firm,” Jaehyun quips, dismissive yet endearingly, eyes crinkling into crescents, “Have dinner with my family tonight?”

Yuta, who had been preoccupied with rearranging Taeyong’s older, wilting flower arrangements, promptly stumbles over his own movements, knocking a few pots together in the haste of surprise.

The Japanese man sends a glance towards the florist, making Taeyong even more anxious than before.

There’s two pairs of expectant eyes on him. 

How can he say no?

“Of course,” Taeyong sighs, feeling his heartbeat race into an irregular pattern. Beaming from cheek to cheek, the male takes a step backwards, lengthening the gap between him and the lawyer, “Of course, I will.”

And Jaehyun grins, soft and gentle yet it brings harsh waves that carries Taeyong away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one took longer than expected, so i apologize, but yeah... uhm surprise?


	7. because there’s nothing like you

When Taeyong was younger, he lived next to a boy whose eyes were quite big, perhaps even larger than his own. He was younger but definitely taller, skin tanned and hair cut into a choppy length above his forehead. The way he spoke was peculiar, Korean hinted with a heavy accent.

He came from Hong Kong, Taeyong soon found out one day when the two were skipping away down the street, small hands held against each other for the warm feeling of safety. 

It has been years since Taeyong last saw his old friend. The family moved out only two years after moving in, and the florist always thought that they missed their homeland, feeling too distant with a country that has high standards and conservative beliefs. 

What Taeyong doesn’t expect is to see him, standing tall and proud in a black-fitted uniform, greeting Jaehyun at the door of his house. His facial features remain stoic, eyes flickering towards the lawyer’s face for a brief sign of acknowledgement. 

He can’t help but to feel betrayed when the guard doesn’t spare him a glance. 

“Who’s that?” Taeyong finds himself asking without another thought, curiosity winning over the filter between his brain and his mouth. 

Jaehyun sends a glance back towards where the security guard stood, brief and uninterested. “That’s Lucas,” he states, taking Taeyong by the arm through the entrance, “He’s chief of security.”

“Lucas?” The florist repeats quietly to himself, finding the name to have an unfamiliar taste on his tongue. Huffing, Taeyong glances back at Jaehyun who ogles him with expectant eyes, a smile spreading over his lips. 

“Is everything okay?”

Taeyong nods, lips curling at the younger man’s sudden worry. He likes it, the minimal way Jaehyun shows his concern with wary eyes and an unjust frown. The florist believes it’s his love language, finding it endearing. 

He doesn’t realize he’s been staring too long, and perhaps neither did Jaehyun, because the sudden gasp of surprise that echoes along the foyer shakes him down to his spine. And in a startled attempt to peel his eyes towards the culprit, Taeyong lets a yelp of surprise ring from his throat. 

“Aren’t you two adorable,” the woman coos, rushing over towards the florist with wide arms, successfully engulfing him in a loose hug. She resolves on giving Jaehyun a pat on the shoulder, an action so simple yet so full of affection. 

“Mom, why are you dressed so…” Jaehyun glances at his mother with wary eyes, the corner of his lips quirking up in mild disgust, “Extravagantly.”

Taeyong takes the opportunity to examine her clothes, feeling dressed down in his casual t-shirt and jeans. Perhaps the only extravagant part about his outfit is that his shirt is loosely tucked in. 

“I like making good first impressions, Hyunnie,” his mother coos, ruffling the crown of the lawyer’s head. Taeyong warms up at the sight, a repressed smile fighting its way upon his pursed lips.

The exchange reminds him of his own mother, a woman he sees almost on a regular basis and yet he still manages to miss her as if she has been missing his whole entire life. 

“Taeyong,” the woman addresses, staring right into the florist’s eyes. They drip with adoration, endearance, and perhaps, there’s even a hint of pity. The florist disregards the eerie feeling that creeps up around his shoulders; instead, he offers the woman a smile, warm and welcoming. “It’s nice having you here.”

Speechless at the statement, Taeyong’s breath hitches, thinking sporadically about his next words as if his letters were pieces of a scattered puzzle. “Thank you,” the florist stutters out.

Jaehyun’s mother nods, clasping her hand over Taeyong’s hands. “Come,” she leads, tugging the young man along behind her into the dinning room. 

Jaehyun has a rather small family, consisting of his parents, perhaps both of them are older than Taeyong’s own, and a man of tall height. He sat near the corner of the table, next to Jaehyun’s father, leaving a space next to him for the young lawyer. 

He was an odd one, Taeyong comes to conclude when he smiles at the man, only to have him look away as if he was caught red handed doing something he shouldn’t have. Taeyong’s never met him before, but the florist still goes through the fading memory of all the customers he’s had in his flower shop. He supposed the man was a one-time guest. 

“Taeyong,” Jaehyun utters, gesturing towards a seat in between him and the peculiar man. The florist nods, taking his seat without sputtering a single word. The atmosphere between him and the man was tense, and Taeyong doesn’t dare to even greet him. 

Jaehyun takes notice of this, like he always does when it comes to simple things out of the ordinary. The lawyer smiles, wrapping an arm around Taeyong’s shoulders. He points a finger towards the taller man, “This is my brother,” he introduces, gaining the attention of the man in question, “Seo Youngho.”

Seo Youngho.

Taeyong blinks, heaving a dry breath under the stare that the man gives him. The tattoo on his collarbone stings of familiarity, and perhaps it is own imagination when Youngho’s eyes sparkle with a sense of longing. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” the man—Youngho, chokes out, sounding albeit forced yet friendly at the same time, “You can just call me Johnny.”

Taeyong wants to respond, he wants to reach out his hand for a respectful shake of the hand, but his mind shuts down at the moment of mention. He sits in his seat, staring—frozen of all thoughts and movements. Even Jaehyun’s heavy hand on his shoulder seems to be a little lighter, as if it weren’t there. 

Taeyong’s found him. 

He’s found him.

“Youngho,” Taeyong repeats in reminiscence, “Johnny, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The taller man nods softly, averting his eyes once he felt as if the words have become enough of an introduction. Taeyong’s heart bustles, confliction easing into his flesh and bones, seeping in through every cell in his body. 

He couldn’t, he knows he can’t love Johnny and be with him, despite having his name etched deep into his skin. It wasn’t in his heart. 

Taeyong has always thought it’d be a fairytale once he meets the man that inked his name in his life, that the florist would grin with happiness, love and affection. But with Jaehyun’s hands warming his own, Taeyong can only sit in silence, struggling to keep himself from falling more for Jaehyun. 

“What would you like to try first?” Jaehyun questioned sweetly, eyes never leaving Taeyong’s expressions. The florist hums in thought, pointing to a platter of food closest to Jaehyun, who happily served Taeyong with a grin pulled over his lips. 

The dinner goes relatively smooth. Jaehyun’s mother is a woman with many words, a complete contrast to his father who only hums in acknowledgment. And Taeyong genuinely enjoyed his time. However, once the florist picks up to head to the restroom, the peace shatters. 

“Taeyong,” Johnny calls out, halting the florist in the middle of his steps, “We need to talk.”

Taeyong pursed his lips, eyes flickering from the dining room to Johnny’s face, sensing the desperation from his words. “You’re my soulmate,” the florist utters without hesitation, but he keeps his distance, words feeling detached from this world. 

“Yes,” the lawyer mutters cautiously after a moment of thought, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Was he nervous? “And you’re dating Jaehyun.”

Taeyong nods at the obvious statement. Johnny grins, it’s bright and loud, with his eyes crinkling towards the corners and irises gleaming. The sudden action causes the florist to falter for a moment, head cocked to the side in confusion. 

“I’m happy he’s met someone that’s making him happy,” Johnny states, letting out a short laugh.

Taeyong wrinkles his eyebrows together, perplexed, “And you don’t have a problem with your soulmate dating your brother?”

Johnny winces, eyes twitching at the accusation, “There’s a lot you don’t know about my family,” he concludes, “Complications here and there.”

The florist purses his lips in thought, eyes wandering around every nook and corner of the room. Johnny sounded so nonchalant, as if it wasn’t such a big problem the only love of his life is in love with someone else. Taeyong knew of people who lost their soulmate slowly, as if their life had drained away from them. 

How can Johnny be so calm about such a devastation?

But then again, how can Taeyong continue to be the cause of the devastation without any remorse?

“If you’re worried I’ll be heartbroken,” Johnny continues slowly, choosing his words carefully as if he was afraid to hurt Taeyong in some shape or form, “Then don’t be. Be worried about yourself.”

“You’re okay with this,” the florist concludes softly, cautiously, “You’re fucking insane.”

The lawyer chuckles lowly, relaxing his posture and extending his legs outwards, “Like I said, there’s a lot you don’t know about my family. Soulmates,” he pauses for a moment, rubbing the nub of his chin, “Is just one thing that separates us from the rest.”

Taeyong shakes his head in disbelief, but a small part of him feels relieved, like a heavy weight had been lifted off of him, the same weight that has tormented him for years.

And his name is called from the dining room, Jaehyun’s voice loud and deep, clear even through the resonance of the hollow room. The florist gives Johnny a single glance, mind still wondering about the man’s peculiar response. 

Jaehyun stands side by side with his secretary when Taeyong finally makes his way back to the dinner table. The look on Mrs. Jung’s face is clouded, something he can’t pinpoint. Mr. Jung, on the contrary, proceeded to eat his meal without a single change in his expression. Taeyong bites the flesh inside his cheek, nerves getting worked up the longer Doyoung stared him down.

“Doyoung is here to join us,” Jaehyun announces, placing a hand on the secretary’s shoulder. Taeyong nods, sitting back down in his seat. He merely acknowledges Doyoung’s presence; perhaps he needs to spend the rest of the evening avoiding his questions. 

Johnny comes back out only a moment later with his eyebrows furrowed upon meeting Doyoung’s sharpened smile. Taeyong can tell he doesn’t mean to disrespect, but the frown on his face is poorly obvious. 

Is there a problem they have with him?

“Taeyong,” Mrs. Jung calls out, scooping some food onto the florist’s plate, “Have some of this. I made it earlier today.”

“Thank you,” he responds back, trying to ignore the tension that strained her voice. 

The atmosphere at the table becomes menacing the longer they stayed silent, and the appearance of Lucas—chief of security, Taeyong recalls—makes the environment even more threatening.

“Taeyong,” Doyoung calls out, voice sweet as thick honey. The florist flinches for a moment, scrambling to place down his chopsticks. “How has your flower shop been doing?”

Taeyong cleared just throat, forcing a professional smile back onto his face. “It’s been doing well,” he replies curtly, “It’s quite popular these days.”

“Well of course it’s popular!” Doyoung exclaims, grin brightening, “You’re dating one of the most eligible bachelors in South Korea.”

There’s a momentary pause, which Taeyong uses to think up a response. Bachelor? Sure, of course Jaehyun is sought after, but there was a slim chance of hope that people rampaged his shop for his creations, not his connections. Disappointment soon overwhelmed him, only for a mere second, and Taeyong bites on his lip to calm to storm that rises inside his veins. 

“How is the law firm doing?” The florist counters instead, completely avoiding Doyoung’s statement, “I heard about the speculations. I’m sure you guys are sorting that out?”

“Taeyong,” Jaehyun chimes in firmly, “What happens at the law firm isn’t any of your business.”

Mouth dry with humiliation, Taeyong blinks slowly, staring wide-eyes at the lawyer that sits next to him. It’s harsh, Jaehyun’s tone of voice had been sharper than usual, and in front of his own family, too. 

Huffing in a slow breath, the florist purses his lips, forcing a small smile back onto his lips. “Sorry, I was just—”

“How about dessert?” Johnny interrupts, “Taeyong, you want to come get it with me?”

Desperate to seek out a way to avoid the awkward tension in the room, Taeyong nods enthusiastically, trailing behind the lawyer with his arms crossed in thought.

Jaehyun sits paralyzed at the dinner table as he watches Taeyong rise from his seat, but the warmth of Doyoung’s hand that trails along his thigh settles him. His mother doesn’t seem too happy with his choice of words, much less his tone. His father, on the other hand, is still calmly eating, remaining silent. 

With the tension in the atmosphere, Jaehyun also wishes to disappear. And so he does, standing up from the chair and taking long strides into the living room, where he sinks into the couch, letting a sigh seep out from his lips.

Doyoung excuses himself from the dinner table, rushing to catch Jaehyun before he leaves completely. 

“Jaehyun,” Doyoung hisses quietly, “How can you talk to him like that?”

“Was I wrong to say that?” The lawyer grunts back, “Plus, he’s gone away with his soulmate. Does it really matter if I said anything?”

The secretary bites back another hiss, resting his hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Resist it for me, okay? You can’t let your cover blow in front of your family.”

Jaehyun huffs, turning his head towards the dining room where the rest of his family still remained. Turning back to the secretary, Jaehyun’s lips grew into a soft smirk. 

“Maybe for a kiss.”

Doyoung doesn’t think anything of it, and pecks the lawyer right on the lips. 

Unbeknownst to them, Mrs. Jung has wandered into the living room, witnessing what she had suspected all these years. 

Her heart drops, but she doesn’t make a sound. There’s resonating anger the boils through her, but she resists it, turning back on her heels to return to the dining room. 

Taeyong and Johnny sat together, she observed, watching her eldest son explain how to make ice cream to the curious florist. 

She’s made the right choice back then, all those years ago. 

Jaehyun, in her eyes, never deserved a soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhm hi... so i’m back... sorry for being MIA for so long! school really hit me with a real one this year and i completely forgot about this story (and it’s storyline lol) BUT don’t worry! i finally found the inspiration again and the time. this is a short chapter compared to the rest of them, but it’s all i could manage for the mean time. kind of uneventful, kind of not. but i’m glad i finally found time to write it! also thank you to those who still read and left comments even when i wasn’t posting anything! i recently read all of them and i’m so grateful that people like my work :(


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